


Cupid De Locke | Frerard

by sister2sleep



Series: Cupid De Locke-verse [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: (may be some inaccuracies), AU, Accident, Accidents, Car Accidents, Coma, Forests, Gore, Hospital, ICU, M/M, Medical, Medical Procedures, Mental Breakdown, Mental Illness, Mild Smut, PTSD, Pain, Pyromania, Sad, Sick Frank Iero, Tragedy, Trauma, Whump, Yearning, bob is actually nice, coma fic, graveyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 37,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister2sleep/pseuds/sister2sleep
Summary: For years, Frank had been wondering how he would die, constantly asking himself when it would be, how it would happen, and if there would be anyone around to care. Trapped within the haze of a daydream, he finds himself a witness of his own funeral. There, he receives one answer to his question- a boy, sat grief-stricken at his headstone.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Pete Wentz/Mikey Way
Series: Cupid De Locke-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971361
Comments: 66
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a/n:  
> mentions of suicide, self-harm, descriptions of gore, hospitals and car accidents play a big role in this story, as well as other situations that may be triggering to some! please do not take this lightly. stay safe!
> 
> another important disclaimer-
> 
> i also want to make it clear that this is a story i came up with in early 2016, when i was ten years old and needed an outlet to write about my special interest with hospitals, medical procedures, etc. this was way before i got into my chemical romance. of course, at that time, i wasn't aware of frank's accident until a year or so after it occurred. 
> 
> by then, i had already projected this plot onto the band and became hyperfixated on it before i could stop myself. if you know anything about hyperfixations and special interests, you'll know that these are things that cannot be controlled. i just want to let everyone know that it was not my intention to hurt anyone, and this was simply an ill-timed, unfortunate coincidence that this story clashed with an unfortunate reality.
> 
> i also struggle with empathy, so i didn't realise this was a problem until indirectly pulled up on it. i've never been 'called out' for writing this, but people with somewhat similar events that happen in their fics have, so i had to come and talk about it here.
> 
> i'd like to add that although the accident happened back in 2016, my condolences still go out to frank and the rest of the band.
> 
> \- mai :-)

Frank's POV:  
-

I've always wondered what it would be like if I died.

How would people react to my death? Would I be missed? How would it happen? Would there be a bunch of people stood at my deathbed as I slipped away in my sleep, or would I die alone, nobody left to grieve me; nobody there to remember my name when I'm gone?

It's as if I can picture it in front of me- like I'm standing amongst the scene playing out in my head.

_I'm stood in an enclosed graveyard in a forest-like area- my local cemetery. I'm surrounded by crowds of people. It is drizzling with rain, which seems rather fitting to the occasion. A cameraman stands holding a large news camera and a microphone, filming and interviewing certain groups of people._

_Currently, a woman stands in front of the camera in solemnity, dressed in a black coat. She sobs into the microphone. There are large bags under her eyes from sleepless nights of crying, and her brown bob is slicked back into a short ponytail. I recognize this as my own mother. Beside her stands my father, who, as usual, looks deep in thought._

_"He was just so sweet, and- and- we all just miss him so, so much-" That's all she can say before she is swept away by a flood of tears._

_Behind the camera are my peers- people from my school who I've never even interacted with before stand scattered around the small, enclosed forest in huddles, everyone dressed in shades of black and gray._

_This is my funeral._

_I can hear the cries of my classmates surrounding me. My attention is drawn to a boy with long, jet-black hair and teal roots, on his knees at my headstone, sobbing into his hands. I can't seem to get a good look at his face, but I feel a certain familiarity around him. He seems distraught._

_A few of the girls from my music class stand in front of the camera, shaky and tearful. One of them leans into the microphone, "I- I wish we could have had the chance to get to know him better... He- he seemed so charismatic, full of life, y-you know?"_

_The other girl nods. "We'll just miss him. We all will," She says._

_Flowers are tied to the fences surrounding the graveyard in commemoration of me. This shit is fucking dark._

_I can almost feel the stomachs of my classmates dropping as it was announced over the school intercom that I was dead. The refusals of the teachers to give an answer as to how I had died. The looks on everyone’s faces. It sends shivers down my spine._

_-_

_Slowly, the crowds begin to die out. I see my parents leaving with a group of girls from my school. My mother thanks them for their kindness in turning up to my funeral, and wishes them well. I've never seen any of them before._

_Soon, everyone has cleared out. All but one person._

_The boy with the teal roots, who remains weeping at my headstone._

-

"Iero?"

"Iero?"

I look up. I'm sat in a dull, gray classroom. My 'alternative' English class, to be precise. Mr White stands at the front of the room, pacing back and forth, going over the register.

There are only five other people in my class. This is because the school assumed we were having some sort of 'difficulty' with English, and put us in this shithole. I'm not having difficulty. I just think. I think a lot. I think so much that I get entangled in my thoughts; lost beyond my control until the bell indicates that I have to leave the classroom. It's the reason I'm failing at everything. I can't help it. 

Once I figure out when and how I will inevitably die, maybe I'll pick my grades up. But not for now. I like it in my thoughts.

"Frank Iero anyone?" He looks around the room as if he can't see me. I'm glad Mr White is pretty much ancient- it means that I don't have to get shit done until the last minute.

"Yeah, here sir."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite a short chapter, but I swear, it has a good reason behind it.

Gerard's POV.  
-

I don't speak a word as I enter the waiting room. I just turn to the woman at the front desk and tell her who I'm seeing and what my authority is.  
I don't want to be here.

I don't want to speak to anyone.  
I don't feel like responding to the false, generic smiles of the staff members passing by, or glaring back at the people giving me sympathetic glances as I make my way over to the sets of shitty plastic waiting room chairs, occupied by shells and sunken figures of broken people.

I don't want to look at the TV in the corner of the room, playing some corny British comedy, and listen to the overplayed laughs of the staff at the reception desk as they watch it out of sheer boredom and curiosity.  
Everything is dull to me. Grey. Everyone's faces; sunken and tragic, many staring into space, lost in their own world of sorrow; others faking smiles and laughs. The four, white walls are lined with noticeboards. 'No negativity in this room!' one of the several posters reads. Many others feature phone numbers for mental health hotlines or counselling services that can be visited if in need. I scoff in disgust.

My chest is weighed down with impending sorrow. The hole that once contained my heart is now a pit of dread. My whole body aches and throbs in grief and regret. I can still feel the blood on my hands, pulsating from cuts and grazes, and the tears that once fell from my eyes like a waterfall now leave a sting against my lightly grazed cheeks.

My brain replays what happened over and over in my head until it hurts to think about.  
My thoughts cannot be averted from this topic; for what I did was unthinkable, and the anguish of regret is all I can feel, seeping through my body.

A young woman sits herself next to me. I edge myself away from her, in fear of her accidentally brushing against my arm as she shuffles anxiously in her seat. She wears bright red lipstick and black pigtails. She looks so tired. We exchange a knowing glance, and then proceed to look down at the floor in opposite directions. Eye contact stings my eyes like the sun's rays sting a vampire to its touch.

 _She knows what you did,_ My brain screams at me, _She knows that you fucking killed him. You should be fucking ashamed. You should be dead, Gerard._

"Do we have a Gerard Way in here?" A man with a large afro stands at the door, looking down at his clipboard.

I stand up and shuffle towards him, my arms tight by my side.  
"That's me," I say, shyly.

"Hi, Mr Way. I'm Dr Toro, and I'll be monitoring Frank during his stay. If you would just follow me, he'll be in room 322." He gives me a weak smile. I can feel its touch of underlying empathy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know how to feel about this chapter. I don't think I like it.  
> edit: this chapter was inspired by the monologue from the song 'this is how you spell "hahaha we destroyed the hopes and dreams of a generation of faux-romantics''.'

Frank’s POV  
-

I walk in from my mother's balcony, panda-eyed and freezing cold.  
I bury myself in her bedsheets to warm. The dream has been keeping me awake again- the one where I'm dead.  
It seems to follow me with my every move. It feels branded into my mind.

The idea of death creeps upon me like a predator creeping upon its prey. It pounces at me and keeps me captivated within it for countless hours.  
It's not like I haven't already accepted death- I mean- I've realized that everyone will die, and that's fine; it's that I'm terrified of not knowing the cause, and thus, the dream makes it all worse.

The thought of dying of old age, surrounded by my loved ones is much more comforting than one of suddenly dying a premature, untimely death. That's what scares me. It's how people would react in a situation such as that.  
This image of my future partner, or someone really close to me, receiving the news that I'd died haunts me. The thought of them dropping to their knees in despair. Tear-filled, sleepless nights. 

And then the funeral; it replays in my head in a cyclical motion, spinning around my mind; each time, it ends with the boy with the teal roots appearing closer and closer towards me, sobbing harder into his palms every time. Yet when he looks up or moves his hands for a split second, his face is still indistinguishable.  
I still can't tell who he is, nor can I remember what he looks like after the dream finishes once again.  
He just seems to know something.  
Something that I don't.

I snap back into reality. I'm covered in goosebumps, millions. Whether it's the fear that shakes me into alertness, or a strange awakening of my previously undiscovered intellect, I manage to translate them from Braille as I run my icy hands across my arms.

The words speak more to me than the reams and reams of half-written lyrics and scrapped melodies that lie across my bedroom floor, and all the unfinished songs that have been played out of my guitar and never continued like a final, fatal journal entry.

A chill runs down my spine.

I need to know who the teal roots boy is.  
I have to go to the fucking graveyard.


	4. Chapter 4

Gerard's POV  
-

We stand in silence outside of room 322.  
My entire body is tense. I can feel myself shaking. I'm a wreck of fearful anticipation.

"Okay, before we go in, we need to discuss Frank's condition." The doctor looks down at his clipboard, before giving me a false-looking smile.  
He motions towards the chairs by the door.  
"Do you want to sit down for this, sir?" he asks. His voice falters slightly.  
I nod, reluctantly, sitting down in one of the chairs beside us. The guilt that sits upon me grows heavier as the seconds pass by.

He takes another look at his clipboard and sighs. I desperately try to brace myself for the news in fear of the worst.  
"Okay, so, obviously the accident meant that Frank was severely injured. He was in and out of consciousness for a while." He sits down beside me and sets his clipboard down on his lap. I bounce my leg anxiously. I want to be anywhere but here. "And the severity of the trauma that was inflicted meant that he was left in a critical condition."

I draw in a small, shaky gasp. I feel as though my heartstrings have been snapped, leaving my heart to plummet from my chest.

"Well- after around thirty minutes or so, he just... stopped waking up. He's fallen into a coma." he says, "His family were contacted. They said they'd handle it and let you know what's happening-"

"What- no... he can't have, can he?" I cut him off.

"We ran all the tests we could. We're absolutely positive."

I suddenly begin to feel weak. The room spins around me. The words I'm trying to say are entangled in the back of my throat; trapped inside of me.  
A certain numbness takes form in my body, as though a part of me has been ripped out.  
All I can do is sit here, letting the salty sting of tears burn my eyes. This is all my fucking fault.

The nurse continues to talk about his state and what's going to happen.  
"This is gonna help him to heal a lot faster, and potentially give him somewhat of a second chance, if you will. I understand that-" My breathing suddenly becomes fast and shaky.

He pauses and shoots me a concerned glance. "Look, I'm so sorry. It's alright to be shocked at this sort of news." He tries to comfort me, "It can be a really awful thing to process. Do you still want to see him?" His words linger in the air for a moment as I try to comprehend everything he's just said.  
Nothing's going through.

"I- I think I'll try," I mutter, looking down at the floor, trying to hide the tears in my eyes.

He gives me a sympathetic smile and rests his hand against the door handle, "Alright, well, you're allowed to leave at any time. I'll stay in the room for as long as I can; I need to document some stuff whilst I'm in here anyway."

I tilt my head in acknowledgment and signal for him to open the door. I stand up and try to keep my eyes locked to the ground.  
I don't want to face anyone.

As the door opens, I catch a slight glimpse of Frank, lying on the bed in front of me.

I drop to my knees in the doorway, feeling pain of them hitting the floor ripple across my body. I sob into my hands.  
What the fuck have I done to him?  
"Oh my god, Frank..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. although i don't think it's as well-written as it could have been if i had taken another route with the previous chapters, this chapter is, as you can see, a really hard-hitting one. it's also a major plot point, i guess, so if you need to, take this as a trigger warning for what might come later on in the story. stay safe.  
> also, i'm so sorry i had to put you guys through this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! this is a nice chapter, i promise !! :)

Frank's POV

-

I stand at the entrance to the graveyard. I just need some air; some space to stroll around and think about shit.  
Fucking hell, this place is eerier at night.

Trees enclose the graves like a huge wall, preventing anything from getting out. There's no light that leads down its singular, narrow path. It's the kind of darkness where I'd have to make my way around and find out which is which grave by tracing my fingers over the lettering that's etched onto the headstones until I could make out a word or two, unless, of course, I had common sense, which in that case, means that I would likely have brought a fucking flashlight.

Autumn leaves shrivel and decompose on the ground, crunching beneath my feet.  
and the looming trees, shed of their leaves, look upon me as I try to let my eyes adjust to being swallowed by this pitch darkness.

When I can finally see a little better, I stroll down the path that leads through the yard, my hands shoved into my pockets. The emptiness of the graveyard gives me space to think. To breathe a little. 

I'm desperately rooting for the image of teal roots boy, trying to remember his face, and whether or not he could be real.

Suddenly, I see a flicker of orange light from one of the trees; like fire from a match, or a lighter.  
Who the fuck could be hiding here at this time? A vampire? A fucking bodysnatcher?

"Hello?" I call out timidly, "Is anyone there?"

There's a faint grumble in the distance. I make my way over to where I hear it coming from.

It's a tree; overhanging two unmarked gravestones, perfectly separated apart. The fact that they have been left unmarked makes me feel uneasy. The idea that nobody was left to remember their name. People probably walk past their graves, day by day without knowing who these people really were.

Down from the nearest branch falls three lit matches, which are immediately put out by the rainwater that coats the grass.

I look up. There sits the figure of a boy in a trench coat, lighting matches and proceeding to flick them to the ground straight after lighting them.  
"Hello?" I ask again. What the fuck is this guy doing?

He jumps slightly, sending his matchbox falling to the ground.  
"Uh, yeah, hello?" He looks down, startled. It's too dark to see his face.

I feel slightly guilty. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that."

"No, no, I- It's fine." He climbs down from the tree, picks up the matchbox and walks over to me.  
He puts his hands in his pockets and stands to face me. 

"Are you okay? Why are you here this late? I didn't think anyone came to places like these this late. I mean, shit's enclosed as hell," I ask, concerned.

"I'm fine. I just like to come here to think," he mutters. Despite him actually getting up to approach me, he still seems shy in his words.

"Me too. What's your name, anyway?"

"Gerard. Gerard Way." The name has a certain familiar ring to it, in a way. It could roll off my tongue like it's nothing; like it doesn't take getting used to using.

"Right." I nod. "I'm Frank Iero."  
I take a hand out of one of my pockets to shake with his.

"You don't have to do that, you know. I'm not really a hand-shaky kind of guy."

"Me neither."

An awkward silence sits between us for a minute or so. All that can be heard is the whistle of the cold, gentle breeze, and the quiet rustling of Gerard's woolen scarf as he adjusts it around his neck.

"Let me see your face, Gerard." I break the silence.

"Huh?"

"I wanna see what you look like."

"O-okay." He shakily reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out his matchbox. He strikes one of its matches to life and holds it in between us. There's just enough light for us to be able to see only our faces.

Despite the flame being very dim, his features are extremely distinguishable, even in this shitty lighting.

He has eyes of a thousand tragedies, and lips of those who will never reveal a single one of them. His nose is upturned and perky, and his long, jet-black hair frames his face perfectly. There's a comforting sense of familiarity about him. It's as if I've known him all my life. 

I can see him studying my features carefully, frowning.

"I can barely see you, but I have to say- you're _hot_ " he teases.

"Oh, stop it..." I laugh.

A gust of wind abruptly puts out the match, leaving us standing in the darkness once more.  
I scratch one of the bleached sides of my hair awkwardly as the silence settles among us again.

"I better get home, I guess," I say, on impulse. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I didn't mean to say that.

"Yeah, that's fine. It's late." He nods. "Maybe I'll see you again, then, Frankie?" 

"Yeah, maybe," I smile, feeling strangely giddy about the fact that he referred to me as 'Frankie'.

"Okay. See you later," I see the silhouette of his hand as he waves. I notice that his pinky sticks out from the rest of his fingers. Huh, cute.

"Bye!" I begin to stroll towards the gate.

My mind is swimming in questions right now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry about this chapter. shit's getting deep.

Gerard's POV

-

"Should I leave you alone with him for a moment?" the doctor asks, after noting down several things on the clipboard he holds.

I nod, and he quickly exits the room, closing the door behind him.

A deafening silence settles around me. All I can do is sit in the shitty plastic chair beside Frank and let myself sob; sob until I can feel my head pounding, until my throat is raw, and I'm retching on my tears and choking when I open my mouth to speak. Three words loop around my mind as I cry, reminding me of what I've done.

_He barely survived._

The only reassurance that he's alive is the breathing tube in his mouth, resting between his slightly parted lips, and the various machines he's attached to. There's no rise and fall of his stomach; no soft sighs. Just the beeping of the monitors surrounding his almost-lifeless body.

I can't speak. I can't think of anything to say- no sob stories, no deep-rooted apologies, or supposed goodbyes. Nothing.  
I shakily caress his cold, pale cheek and scan my eyes over his face. Bruising begins to settle around his left eye in an array of purples, reds and yellows, and the wounds that once bled across his face are sealed with stitching and surgical tape. A mark. A reminder of what I did.  
He looks empty; drained of all signs of life.  


I can feel the words at the back of my throat slowly start to unravel into small sentences, one by one.

"Hey, Frankie," I cough, trying to hold myself together and choke back my emotions. "I really don't know whether you can hear me right now or not, but-" I pause and let my head fall into my hands. My tears wash away my words into a sea of sorrows.

All I can think about is Frank falling limp into my arms; his small, unsteady breaths, his pained whimpers and cries for help, the blood on my hands, and the ever-slowing pace of his heart. The concerned looks on the paramedics' faces in the ambulance will forever be carved into my memory.

"I'm so fucking sorry." I slide my hand into his, half expecting him to squeeze it back. His arms are bandaged from top to bottom, fixing needles from several IV tubes in place, or covering freshly sealed wounds. "Please, wake up. You're all I have, baby."

I cry against his hand, "Please don't leave me like this. I love you so, so much. I won't let you die this way." My whole body shakes. A cocktail of anxiety, fear and guilt settles in the pit of my stomach. My leg bounces repeatedly, loudly tapping against the tiled floor.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. Maybe if we had left the house a minute later- I- I could have saved you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i'm really sorry about how heavy the last chapter was. here's a nice one in return.  
> in other news- i got mcr tickets !!

Frank's POV

-

I don't know what it is about the graveyard, but there's a constant urge inside me to go back. I've found myself lying awake at night, lost in thought about the secrets that lie behind it; my mind filled with questions. I just can't bring myself to set foot in it again.

I don't know whether it's the reccurring dream, or the interaction I had last time I was there, but something's pulling me in like I'm attached to a rope.

The anxiety of seeing Gerard again dawns on me and lectures me about the many reasons as to why I shouldn't start hanging out there- why it might be dangerous. 

Yet, I'm here.  
Stood at the foot of the grand cemetery gates all over again, thinking of the ways I can get over them without making too much noise.

I grab onto the smooth metal bars and hoist myself over the spiked top, making sure I don't get jabbed in the ass- after several experiences of sneaking out late at night and climbing over fences to get into shut-off areas, I know those spiked things fucking hurt.  
The small flashlight I remembered to bring this time rattles in my coat pocket, buried among several used tissues and useless arcade tokens that have lived in there for months.

After getting over the gate, I dust my coat off and begin strolling around the graveyard. I don't really know what I'm expecting to see. I don't know why I'm here.

Suddenly, I hear a noise from the trees. I grab my torch out of my pocket and clutch it like a weapon, positioning my finger over the 'on' button as though I'm holding the trigger of a gun.

"Frank!" a voice calls- it's Gerard. I sigh, turning on my torch, and walk over to the tree. Everything looks different in the torchlight. Almost normal.

Gerard dangles from the tree he was sat in last time, his matchbox in one hand, a match in the other. His face is masked by a cluster of dying leaves that sit on a branch in front of him.

"Fuck, Gerard, I thought you were a fucking murderer, or a ghost or some shit." I shoot him an irritated glance.

"Yeah, sorry about that." He drops his matchbox to the ground and hops down from the tree, picking the small box up when he's reached the floor. "Maybe I am a murderer, Frank. You never know." He winks sarcastically.

As he's walking over to me, I take a closer look at him. His features are much more delicate than I remembered, yet he looks so worn. So tired. He looks a lot... prettier in the light.  
My gaze stops at the top of his head. I notice the strange patch of color hiding in the roots of his jet black hair.

Teal.

It's teal roots boy. It's fucking teal roots boy, what the fuck.

I let in a silent gasp. He's real. He's actually real.

"So, do you want to like, sit down or something?" he says, and I snap out of the trance I didn't even realize I had entered.

"Yeah, sure."

We walk over to the nearest bench and sit down. I shine my torch along the graveyard. I've only ever seen this place in the light in my dreams.  
Moss clings to everything- the edges of the path, the stumps of the trees, the gravestones.  
Ivy entwines itself into the stone walls that section off the yard from the vast forest it sits inside, thorns taking a stance in front of any possible exit routes.

I then settle the torch in between us. It casts a light around our faces. Gerard's cheeks are flushed a light pink.

"You're blushing..." I blurt out. 

"Am I? Fuck." He groans.

"Shit, no, I didn't mean to call you out on it- I- I guess I was just-" I stutter, "You look kind of cute."

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow, inching a little closer towards me.

"Yeah, not to be weird or anything. I'm sorry if it-"

"No, it's okay." He stops me, placing a hand on mine and grinning flirtatiously. "Totally okay."

There's a pause. I realize that the thought of him being the guy from my dreams is still bothering me. It's like my brain is urging me to tell him where I know him from. Fuck it.

"Gerard, can I tell you something stupid?"

"Go ahead, I guess."

"I think I know you from somewhere."

"And? This place is tiny. Everyone knows everyone." He looks confused.

"But like, I've never met you before. I don't think I know anyone that knows you. I mean like- like a dream or something." I anxiously flail my hands around as I speak, trying to get my point across.

"Well, uh, what kind of dream?" He pulls out his matchbox and looks down at it, fiddling with it awkwardly. Fuck, I'm making this uncomfortable for him.

He nods as I explain the dream to him. I leave out the end part, where I see him stood alone at my grave. It's not the right time to talk about that yet.

He doesn't look phased when I finish my story. He just shrugs.  
"You've probably just seen me in the street or something. Maybe you've passed me by and accidentally stared at my face for too long because you think I'm too damn sexy. Things get manifested into your dreams that way all the time." He teases.

No, this feels different. More genuine than that- like I _really_ know him.

"I just feel like I'd have noticed you a lot more if I'd have seen you in the street. Plus, it's more of a reoccurring dream than a one-off thing."

"Eh, I don't know, honestly." He shrugs. "It's not too big of a deal."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Gerard and I spend the next few hours discussing random shit about ourselves. He's apparently an 'amazing' comic artist.  
I tell him about my guitar, my obsession of being in a band- despite the fact that my parents are shitty people and believe that punk music rots people's brains- and how much I'm lacking in school.

"Right, it's getting late," he says, standing up.

"Yeah," I agree, collecting my torch from the bench and sliding it back into my pocket.

"Well, anyway." He rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly. "I'm gonna go."

"Okay, well, I'll see you again, then?"

"Yeah. Uh, meet me here at six on Thursday, and bring a camera of some sort." He smiles, before spinning on his heels and walking away.

"A what?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to get the full effect of this chapter, i suggest you listen to this whilst reading it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KbuGWgYLqWk

Gerard's POV

-

There's a weight on my chest that I can't get rid of.  
A voice in my head telling me I can't wash the blood off my hands no matter how hard I try.  
An impending feeling of falling deep into this pit of infinite sadness.

I get into one of the taxis waiting outside the hospital exit and tell the driver my location. I slump in the back seat, letting my long, black hair drape over my face. The night sky traps me in the cab; the streetlights being the only light to carry me home. My eyes are puffy and dry from trying to rub my tears away.

It's like I can't cry anymore; there's nothing left to get out of me. I'm preserved in such a state of shock and guilt that I've forgotten how to feel properly.

I've ruined everything. Our fucking futures have been torn away from us and thrown into a burning pile. It's my fucking fault.

I suddenly feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out and flip it open. It's Frank's mom.

Frank's parents moved to California as soon as he and I got our own little house. It's as though once they knew Frank was remotely safe for the time being, they could fuck off to the other end of the country and forget about their only son. They only ever keep in contact in case of emergencies like this. They told us before they left that they couldn't live around their son knowing that he has committed a 'deadly sin', that will 'wind him up in hell'.

Pressing the phone to my ear, I take a deep breath and prepare myself.

"Gerard?" Her voice is hollow, "Are you there?"

"Yes, Mrs Iero." My throat still feels as raw as my grief.

"Hi honey. We'd just like to say that we're really sorry about Frank. We know how close he is to you." she shows no pity in her tone. It's as if she barely knows him. Her son can't even breathe on his own anymore and all she can say is 'sorry, honey'.

"Yeah, thanks."

"Listen, we didn't want to drop this on you now, but we feel like we have to. As you know, we don't really agree with Frank's..." she lets out an awkward cough. "Lifestyle choices."

My eyes begin to fill with tears again. I hate this woman's fucking guts.  
"I- yeah, I know."

"Well, despite all that, we've decided that because _you_ love him, we want to keep him alive for you, honey." She has a strangely passive aggressive tinge in her tone. She talks to me as though I'm a small child.

Does she want me to thank her for this? After the heartbreak and the horror that wound Frank and I up like this, she expects me to say thank you for making me watch him wither away in his sleep?

"Y-yeah."

"Seeing as though this is for you, we're going to have to ask you a big favor." Her tone has turned even more sickly sweet, like she's about to reveal some really fucking lovely surprise. "If we pay ten percent of Frank's medical bills, you'll pay the rest for us, right?"

I keep silent.

"Remember, this is for you, not us sweetie. _He's yours now._ " I can sense her grin on the other end of the phone. "We'd really hate to see Frankie go, but we just don't agree with his lifestyle choices, and we think you should have the responsibility of taking care of him now." Is this a good thing to them? 

I burst into tears. I can feel the taxi driver's glare burning into me as though he can see me from the back of his head.

"We'll be in contact soon. Goodbye!" She hangs up. My hatred for Frank's mother is indescribable. She's been a manipulative, blackmailing bitch for as long as I've known her. She has no sympathy. She's never had. Not after she found out her 'little catholic boy' is gay.

Abruptly, I look up. The cab has come to a stop in front of our house. I pay the driver and get out, not a word being spoken between us. I wonder if he's used to having sorrow-filled customers cooped up in the back of his car, sobbing about their loved ones or sitting in silence. I wonder if he's phased by any of their trauma.

I walk up the empty driveway and open the front door to the house with the spare key under the doormat. It's never been used before. The door key Frank and I usually keep has likely been destroyed beyond recognition, lost under the damage I've caused.

It's dark and dull inside. All signs of color has been drained around me. I want to see Frank, rushing out of the living room and running up to hug me as I return home after a long day of work; the scent of takeout pizza or some shitty microwave meal filling the house.

It's not as though there's some ghostly presence of him here; no 'signs of him watching over me'. He's just gone, indefinitely. This house is not a home without Frank-  
there are no real signs of life here anymore.

I throw my bloodstained coat and scarf off and walk up the stairs, clutching the banister tightly for support. My eyes are wide, unmoving and glassy. I'm lost in a trance of empty thoughts.  
As soon as I reach the top of the stairs, I feel a sense of darkness creeping up on me from the corners of my eyes. It rapidly begins to close in on me, making my head spin.

I collapse on the landing, my cheek pressed against the cold wooden floor. I clutch my chest with both hands, a single matchstick rolling out of my pocket. The image of Frank, fighting for his fucking life, reliant on tubes and machines to keep him alive, is burnt into my mind.

This is my fucking fault.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry i haven't updated in a while ! i've been really busy lately. i have the day off school today so now i finally have the time to upload. i hope you like this chapter. personally, i don't know how to feel about it, but i think it's okay lmao.

Frank's POV

-  
I'm sat on a bench in the middle of the graveyard, shivering in just my thin t-shirt and ripped jeans. I always seem to forget that it gets colder as it grows darker. I feel as though the cold is biting at me from every angle.

In the light of the sunset, withering in the distance, it's much less sinister.  
The branches of the winding trees recoil to keep their distance, and I can finally see the frost that paves the edges of the grass.

Slung over my shoulder is a camera bag. Its contents: a decade-old Polaroid camera and a fresh box of film that I spent a good four hours looking for. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing with it or why.  
I look down at the floor and shuffle my feet, hoping nobody else walks in and wonders why I'm here alone and what the fuck I'm doing with a camera bag and no coat.

Suddenly, I hear the gate creak open. I look up- it's Gerard. I awkwardly scratch my head as he walks towards me.

He holds a small sketchbook and several pencils. He's wearing his usual attire- a black coat and scarf.

"Are you not cold, Frank? It's the middle of January." He grins as he reaches me, looking down at my try-hard punk attire.

He sits on the bench beside me and begins tracing the goosebumps along my left arm with his index finger. If anyone else did that to me, I'd usually tell them to fuck off, but something about Gerard doing it makes me shudder a little, like the butterflies in my stomach are beginning to increase, flying around in a giddy haze.

"Nah, I'm good..."

"No, Frank, you're fucking freezing!" He looks at me, concerned. "Look at you- you're so pale, and you're shivering like crazy!"

"Fuck, I didn't even notice." I lie, "I guess I was just too distracted to realize."

"Whatever. Here." He pulls his scarf from his neck and wraps it around mine. "You can keep this on for the time being. I don't mind, plus you look cute in it."

"Why, thank you, dear." I grin.

"C'mon, give us a twirl!" He jokes, and I stand up to spin around, giving my most overemphasized bow afterwards.

We both giggle, and Gerard opens his sketchbook out on his lap, flicking through it quickly. Its pages are lined with doodles and sketches of comic book-like characters. He finally flicks to a blank page and rests one of his pencils upon it, putting the rest in his pocket before turning to me. "You got the camera?" he asks with a shy smile.

I lift up the bag that hangs from my shoulder and open it up, pulling the camera and film out. "This any good?"

"Fucking perfect."

I insert the film into a small slot inside the camera and flip it shut.  
"So what do we need this for?" I ask, curious.

"I want you to kind of, uh- model for something. Basically I'm just gonna sketch you and stuff." He blushes. "I- I just need a reference... for a character, I guess."

I nod and pass the camera, "Is this because I'm hot?" I laugh, in jest.

"Absolutely."

"Between me and you... I'm definitely not the hot one here." I give a deliberately exaggerated wink.

"Okay, so if you just wanna move over here..." He gets up and directs me over to the tree he usually sits in, the camera pressing up against his face, ready for him to take the photo. "Yeah, just sit there."

He takes a couple of photos of me and sits back town on the bench, where the used film glides out of the camera. He leaves the pictures to dry and motions for me to sit beside him.

The orange sky begins to fade to a dark grey.  
"Hey, do you have a flashlight or something?" I ask Gerard, who's sat fiddling with his matchbox in his hands.

"Will one of these do?" He waves the box in front of him, making the matches inside rattle.

"I guess so." I nod, and he strikes one of the matches against the side of the box. The light is dim, but it illuminates our surroundings a little.

I glance over to the photos beside us- they're now perfectly developed. Gerard picks one up and puts his sketchbook back on his lap. He studies the picture and begins to trace out the basic shapes of the photo. The lines are thin, light and clean. They dance across the page and start to take the shape of me, stood leaning against the trunk of a tree. He pauses, suddenly, resting the tip of his pencil against the page.

"Hey, Frank?"

"Hm?"

"Can we take one more picture?" he asks, picking the camera up again, "Together?"

"Yeah, sure!" I nod, smiling.

He gestures me a little closer towards him and points the camera towards us with one hand.

As if in slow motion, he brings his other hand up to my face and rests it on my cheek. I shut my eyes as he begins to move closer. Our lips interlock, sending a rush of warmth and a haze of anxiety across my body. The camera flashes, yet again.

I jump and pull away, hesitantly as I hear the photos roll out of the camera. We sit in silence, facing each other on opposite sides of the bench; wide-eyed and in shock, we stare at one another with not a word to say.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello ! bit of an early chapter, as i think i'm pretty confident in this one. enjoy, i guess ! :)

Gerard's POV

-

I creep into the darkened hospital room and take a seat beside Frank, still unmoving and drained. My heart drums inside my chest with anxiety.

The beeps and hums of the cold machines around us are rhythmic and droning, never changing in tone or pace.  
Always the same.

My tear-flooded eyes are rimmed with natural browns and deep reds, settling darker day by day like increasing bruises against my pale complexion; my hair, having gone unwashed for days, settles over them.

I stare at the half-lifeless body of Frank. His life seems to slip away with every artificial breath his ventilator takes. He's dying.

"Oh, Frankie." I sigh, tears suddenly beginning to spill over my eyes and running down my cheeks. "Please, wake up."

His unresponsive state brings back the vivid memories of what happened that night. The bruising on his face; the neck brace; the pale hospital gown; the stitches beneath the bandages that wrap tightly around his pale, needle-pierced arms.  
_It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault he's in a coma and he's never going to fucking wake up._

"Can you hear me?" I pick up his bandage-clad hand. It's cold and pale. "Do you miss me? Because I miss you. I miss you so fucking much and I don't know what I'm gonna do."

It's like the steady beeping of his heart monitor narrates the scene before it.

"Your parents, Frank, they- they're making me pay your medical bills, I- I think." I run along the palm of his hand with my thumb as tears roll down my cheeks. "They rang me the other night- the night you- y'know. They said that- that they'd help pay, a-and that they'd get back to me in a few days, a-and they haven't said anything since.

"I seriously don't know what I'm going to do- I- I'm gonna have to book a load of extra hours at the shop- a-and maybe even get an extra job or something, I-I mean the pay at the comic book shop is really shitty and- and-" I can't continue. I let go of his hand and slump my arm over his abdomen, where I rest my head and cry gently. My head pounds.

"You don't deserve this. You're so wonderful. So fucking perfect. And now- now you're basically gone. And I can't even bear to look at you anymore. I'm so, so sorry.

"I love you so much, Frankie. I don't want you to ever forget that, no matter what happens to the two of us. I don't fucking care if you can't hear me, but I hope you know this, wherever you may be in your dreams right now."  
I quickly raise my head from my arm and look up, half expecting his eyes to slit open slightly; for him to sleepily mutter- "I love you too, Gee," before drifting off to sleep, and for all of this to be just some horrible nightmare.  
But there's no response. Just the sunken shell of a man, whose life is slowly diminishing, falling apart by the second.

"Oh god, baby. Please wake up." 

Suddenly, I hear the door creak open. It's the doctor with the fluffy hair.

"Hey, Mr Way." He grins. I focus my eyes on the name badge that's clipped to his breast pocket. 'Ray Toro', it reads.

"Hey, Ray," I reply, not realizing I've referred to him by his first name. I look at him and back at Frank. I wonder if he knows Ray too. I wonder if he can hear him running tests on him or monitoring him. I just hope he can hear _me_.

He seems to brush off my mistake, and proceeds to walk over to the chair I'm sat in. He stands by me in silence, watching over Frank with me.

"How's he doing?" I ask shakily, stroking Frank's hand.

"He's stable for now." He sighs.

I don't respond; instead, staring blankly with vacant, stained eyes at the slightly crumpled bedsheets that I grip in one hand, I say,  
"I miss him."

"We're gonna try our best to help you two get through this with the best possible outcome, okay?" He gives a sympathetic smile. "We can't really start promising anything at this stage in his recovery, but whatever happens, we'll try our best to get you guys through it."

I nod weakly, desperately holding back yet another bout of tears.

"Saying this, we need to discuss the outcomes- something I forgot to tell you the last time you visited." He moves himself towards the end of the bed.

"O-okay."

"Okay. Frank's suffering from severe brain trauma. The uh- the accident-" His voice falters in saying that, but he continues, "also led to spinal damage, a collapsed lung, as well as some minor to moderate wounds and bruising."

"Oh my god." More tears begin to rush to my face, worsening my ongoing headache.

"What I'm saying is- Frank actually being in a coma is the best way of healing. It's like the body's own response to severe damage." He sighs. "There are several outcomes to situations such as Frank's. Either Frank wakes up with lasting complications of some sort, or he doesn't wake up at all. I can't specify what kind of damage, as we don't know at this point, but we have to warn you that there is going to be some there."

"This could be cranial damage- whether it be a case of amnesia or severe damage, that could be an issue. Another problem would obviously be motor damage. For example, problems concerning him being able to walk and move around, et cetera."

"Y- yeah." I look back at Frank; my throat is hoarse with angst and raw, bubbling grief.

"Sir, you do have to understand though, that no matter what happens, if and when he wakes up, we're going to get you through this, no matter how long it takes." He sounds genuinely sorry.

"Do you really think he'll pull through?"

"Only time will tell, I guess. It's really just a waiting game. Patients can be in comas for a few days to a few months. There's even cases of coma patients being under for several years. That's rare, though."

"Fuck."

"I'm here if you ever need to talk. I know I'm just a doctor and all, but I'm genuinely so sorry. This is my first time being assigned to a specific patient before, and it's really made me realize the shit their loved ones go through. You guys don't deserve this shit."

My brain wants to scream at him.  
Tell him that I did it.

He looks at his watch abruptly and turns back to look at me.  
"Well, my shift is over now. I'll see you guys soon, I guess."

I give a weak smile and wave him out of the door, before clutching Frank's bedsheets with both of my hands and sobbing into them.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry. I-I just wanted for us to be happy." I wail, "We could have had a family. We could have got to that concert, and we would have been engaged by now if it weren't for me; not looking where I was _fucking_ going."

I raise my head and stare at his cold, color-drained face. "I'll never let them hurt you, I promise. I won't let them take you off these machines until the day you wake up. We're gonna get through this together, no matter what happens, baby." I grip his hand as tight as I can as tears stream down my face. "I love you so much."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nice chapter i promise. not my fav but it's pleasant.

Frank's POV

-  
A few weeks have passed since Gerard kissed me for the first time. Graveyard visits have become more frequent and the awkward, preteen romance-like tension between him and I has begun to slowly melt away.

We sit on the bench in the middle of the yard, his arm around me as I curl up beside him; me in my school uniform and Gerard in his usual attire- a black trench coat and scarf. In his spare hand, he fiddles with his matchbox and gazes blankly into the distance.

"Gerard?"

"Hm?" he asks, shuffling upwards slightly.

I sit myself up to face him. His skin is a pale white; covered by a veil of sleep deprivation and cold.

"So, we've been coming here a lot lately," I say.

He sighs and lets his head fall, so that his greasy hair dangles over his eyes. All I can see of his expression are the corners of his mouth, which begin to slowly upturn.  
"Mhm." He nods a little.

"And I guess you could say we've grown closer, in a way, right?"

He raises his head and brushes his hair away from his eyes. He smiles from ear to ear, as if he knows what I'm about to say.

_Fuck, he knows._

"I kissed you, Frankie." He giggles. "And you liked it. And we carried on. We've been 'carrying on' or whatever for the past two weeks."

"Oh shit, yeah."

"Anyway, continue."

"Well, anyway, does this like-" I pause, butterflies beginning to form and flutter around my stomach. "Does this mean you're my boyfriend or whatever? Or are we just-"

My stomach churns as I realize what I've just said. I can _feel_ how naive I sound.

He lets out another giggle and wraps his arms around me, kissing me on the forehead.  
"It can mean whatever you want it to mean," he mutters softly into my ear.

"Wait, what?"

"I mean- yes. I guess that kind of does mean we're like- a thing, if you want," his words are full of awkward pauses and anxious stutters.

"Okay, cool," I smile, curling back beside him as he wraps his arm around me again.

"Come to think of it, we've never left the graveyard together, have we?" He asks, after a moment of silence.

"Nope."

"You wanna come over to mine?" He runs his fingers through my hair, "You can meet my brother if you want."

"If it's okay with you. I mean- I don't wanna intrude or anything-"

"It's okay, Frankie. Trust me."

"Okay." 

"Come on, let's go." He stands up and holds his hand out in front of him, urging me to grab it. He pulls me up from the bench as our fingers interlock. His ink-stained hand is icy against the tips of my fingers, which poke out of the tops of my fingerless gloves.

-

Gerard lives in a narrow, three-storey house in the center of town, sitting between several small shops.

A wave of warmth blasts my face as he opens the front door.

"Hi, Mikey!" he calls out as he takes off his coat and scarf and closes the door behind us. I've actually never seen Gerard in anything but the coat and scarf he wears to the graveyard. It's weird now, seeing him in just a plain black hoodie and skinny jeans. He looks less like a gay spy and more like a goth-y artist.

We walk into the living room and perch on one of the sofas. A younger looking guy, who I assume is Mikey, sits on the opposite couch, his legs slung over one of its arms. "Hey," he says, not looking up from the TV.

"Mikey, uh, this is Frank. He's my boyfriend now, I guess."

He looks me up and down and turns to Gerard, giving him a sarcastic grin. "Oh, Gerard's been telling me _all_ about you!"

"Mikey, shut the fuck up-"

"Yeah, he's been saying you're into all this really cool music and that he thinks you're really precious and cute and-"

The two cut each other off, back and forth, playfully arguing. Gerard's face is flushed bright red with embarrassment. I sink into the corner of my side of the sofa and watch the argument unfold before there's an awkward, splitting silence.

"So, Frank. You wanna go down to my room?" He nudges me as Mikey quietly becomes invested in the TV once again.

I nod, and we walk down to the basement, where Gerard's room spans out across it.

*

"So, how come I've never seen you anywhere else apart from the graveyard?" I ask, sat cross-legged on his bed, flicking through one of his boxes of vinyl.

"Me and Mikey have pretty much always been homeschooled, so I don't get out much," He shrugs. "That's probably why I'm so strange."

"Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, I visit that graveyard basically every day, and my hobbies are lighting matches and writing crappy comic books about vampires and shit. Does that not strike you as unusual, in any way?"

"I guess I just didn't realize how strange it sounds." I let out a humorless laugh. "It doesn't really look weird on you, to be fair. Just seems kinda normal, to be honest."

"Oh, and why's that?"

"Probably because you're sorta goth-y anyway. It just fits."

"Yeah, I get you."

I gaze at Gerard's face as he pulls out another box of records for me to look through. I admire how delicate and unique his features are; how his red eyeshadow-rimmed eyes are like pools of honey in the light; the way their golden-green flecks pull me in. He's fucking gorgeous.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is. the moment you've all been waiting for. prepare to get sad.

Gerard's POV

-

I clutch Frank's body in my arms as he grows limp; his head lolling on my chest, leaning against my arm. I can feel his unsteady breaths touch my neck as I cry softly.

The burning cars before us, one abandoned and the other flipped on its side, light our bloody faces in the dark. My cheeks sting with salty tears and thick blood running cold.

My phone lies in a patch of ice on the ground, having just called 911. 

This is my fault.

-

_I admire the engagement ring from its box, hiding it in my coat pocket as I hear Frank's footsteps coming towards me in the snow. A few hours and I can call him mine._

_"Hey, what're you looking at?" Frank asks, smiling._

_"Oh, it's nothing, I was just, uh... texting Mikey about the concert tickets." I respond nervously, my face suddenly growing hot._

_"Oh, I see. Did he manage to get some for us, then?" He seems to buy the lie I just made up, despite it being slightly nonsensical._

_"Yeah, he'll be at the stadium with them in a bit." I nod, "He's worked his ass off for these tickets. I think he's sold about twenty-five bootleg Disney movies in like, a week to get them." I laugh._

_"Mikey will do literally anything for Smashing Pumpkins tickets, won't he?"_

_"Yeah, it's crazy." I roll my eyes, getting into the driver's seat of the car, Frank getting into the passenger's seat beside me. "It's like- he doesn't give a shit about the cops showing up at our Mom's front door or anything- he just needs his Smashing Pumpkins tickets to fuel his addiction. And for some reason the only way he thinks he can actually get them is well- by selling shitty unreleased Disney movies. No fucks given."_

_"That's hardcore, to be fair."_

_We both giggle, before I start the car and pull out of the driveway, onto the main road._

_A thin sheet of snow paves the roads, bejeweled with ice. Frank stares at it in awe.  
"You think it's gonna snow more tonight?" he asks, excited._

_"Maybe." I smile, imagining what it would be like for snow to fall upon the open roof of the stadium as the band plays, proposing to Frank at the perfect moment. He's gonna be so fucking happy._

_I hear him beside me, rummaging through our little CD compartment. He pulls out an album- Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness.  
"It feels appropriate. Gotta prepare ourselves for the show tonight."_

_I laugh. "Good choice. I think the title of this album is how I'm gonna feel after it's over."_

_"Hah, me too. God, I hate post-concert blues."_

\- 

_The album comes to a close. Snow layers heavily upon the vast countryside roads. Despite the clock only reading 7:14, it looks and feels much later into the night._

_"You know, I love you. I love you so, so much." I smile, turning to Frank, whose eyes are beginning to grow heavy._

_"I love you too, Gee." He smiles back, wearily._

_"You just mean so much to me-"_

_I'm cut off by a sharp scream._

_"OH MY GOD, GERARD, LOOK OUT!"_

-

I cry over Frank, his body now completely limp against mine.  
"Please, stay with me."

"G-Gee..." he says, weakly, "It hurts..."

"Frank- I- Oh my god. Stay awake for me, please, Frankie," I plead, pulling him tighter to me and pressing my lips against his blood-splattered forehead. "Shhh, it's okay. You're safe now..." I lie.

He opens his mouth to speak, but it's all too much for his frail body to handle. He lets out a pain-drenched groan and drops his hand from his chest. His eyes slip shut, finally succumbing to a riptide of unconsciousness.

"Frank? Can you hear me? Frank?!"

"No, no, no, please, look at me." My voice becomes shaky and panicked. I gently tap the side of his face with the palm of my hand, shaking his head slightly, in an attempt to wake him up.

"Stay with me, stay with me, please, please. Open your eyes... I'm so sorry."

"I can't lose you. I can't lose you." My cries become screams.

Blood runs through my fingers like the sand of an hourglass.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey. It's okay. It's going to be okay. You're okay. I promise." My screams become hoarse, strained whimpers.

"I promise, we'll be okay." I grab his hand and squeeze it as tight as I can, my other arm still cradling him against my body.  
I feel a slight squeeze back.

"Look, baby, look!" I exclaim, smiling hysterically in the midst of my sorrows, "You're doing so well. So, so fucking well, come on. Just wake up, please," I pant.

Despite being unconscious, Frank's face is still stricken with fear and panic. I can tell he's clinging on for dear life at this point; his body fighting to stay alive. The guilt begins to settle in, stinging me like it's being branded into my skin with a hot iron. _I did this._

_I could have saved him._

"I'm so sorry."

I hear the faint wailing of an ambulance in the distance.

"Look, we're going to be fine. Just hang on, okay? We'll be alright soon. They're nearly here now."

I can feel his pulse slowing down as I grab his wrist. His breaths are becoming less frequent. More labored and short. The crimson trails of his life seep out of his glass-embellished wounds and weave into the frost below us.

Meanwhile, the weight of the unworn engagement ring in my pocket holds me down.

"Baby... please..."

The wails of the ambulance sirens grow closer and closer.

-

Frank's body is laid out across a stretcher. A paramedic sits beside me, asking me questions about the accident. I can't _think._ I can't _feel._

Everything is a blur. The voices around me are fuzzy, as though I'm being dragged underwater by my feet.

"Can you tell me how the accident happened?"

_"Rip his shirt off."_

"Sir?"

_"Check his vitals."_

"Mr Way, can you hear me?"

_"He isn't responding."_

"Do you need a glass of water, sir?"

_"We need to defibrillate him, stat!"_

The voices begin to fade out. My vision becomes hazy-

-

I shoot up in a cold sweat, panting, my eyes bolted forwards and unmoving.  
Tearing up, I reach for Frank on the other side of the bed, longing to be held as I cry in his arms.

But there's nobody there. Just a cold, empty spot where he once lay a couple of weeks ago.

This wasn't just a dream. It's the memories. They're all coming back.

I lay back down and curl up into a ball. My tears stain my bedsheets like raindrops as I cry gently.  
"Frankie, come back. It hurts."

I'm a fucking monster.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> djsksjdk sorry 4 tha late upload lol i haven't been feelin the motivation to write

Frank's POV  
-

**four weeks later**

Gerard places a hand on my cheek as we lay opposite each other on his bed, heavy-eyed and weary. We're covered by a thick layer of blankets and duvets- it's fucking cold in the basement. I don't know how the fuck he sleeps in here every night.

"I love you," he says sleepily, his speech slurring.

"I love you too." I blink slowly, my eyes growing too heavy to pick up.

"Goodnight." The light flicks off. I curl up to Gerard and bury my head in the crook of his neck.

"Night."

-  
_I scream. There's a collision of metals. Sparks. A crunch. I'm hung upside down, suspended from my seat. The sharp, heavy scent of gas and motor oil fills my senses and clogs my nose._

_My head is spinning; my body is in unimaginable pain- like I'm sprawled out in the hands of death, waiting to be taken away. I'm being pulled out of the car and cradled in somebody's arms. The surrounding air is thick and hot. Smoke alters my perception of my surroundings. The two collided cars burn before our eyes._

_The person holding me sounds horribly distraught, yet their voice is so soothing as they cry for help down the phone._

_"There's been an accident- we- we were hit by a drunk driver- please, help us- my boyfriend... he's unconscious, I think-" He pants, looking down at me, "Hold on for me, okay, Frankie..."_ _Boyfriend?_

_It feels like someone is squeezing my throat shut and slowly filtering the air out of my lungs; like they're slowly filling up with water. The taste of blood seeps over my tongue and taints my senses. Everything numbs. A growing pain in my head begins to roar and pound, faster and louder with each second._

_"Please, he's barely breathing... I don't know what to do- okay, okay." He drops his phone beside him and looks at me, a hand cradling my face gently, his thumb caressing my cheek._

_I breathe shakily against his neck, trying to fight the urge to fall completely unconscious. Hot blood runs down my face. He cries over me; his tears dripping onto my torn t-shirt._

_"Please, stay with me..." he sobs. The familiar-sounding voice becomes clearer in my mind- it's Gerard._

_"Gee- it hurts," I say, pain rippling throughout my body again. Speaking just makes me feel more heavy. More tired._

_"Frank- I- Oh my god. Stay awake for me... please, Frankie," he presses his lips to my bloody forehead, "Shhh, it's okay now." His voice sounds like I'm underwater, and he's above the surface, trying to beckon me out._

_I'm trying to cling on. My head pounds as I try to clutch onto every ounce of consciousness I have left. I want to hold on. For Gerard._

_But I feel as though I'm going to die._

_'Gee- please, I'm trying to stay awake. I promise. I love you' I want to say, but no words come out of my mouth. The only sound that slips out is a groan, laced with fear and immense pain._

_It all becomes too much. Gerard's soothing, yet pain-riddled voice begins to fade out. The pounding in my head starts to become slower and slower; there's a ringing in my ears like the flatline of a heart monitor. Black. The pounding is gone; all that fills my ears is the ringing._

-

I wake up, tears already beginning to form in my eyes.  
_It was a fucking nightmare; nothing more, nothing less._  
I try to stifle my sobs, attempting not to wake Gerard up. 

My body hurts with every jolt. I can't hold it in.

"Frankie?" He stirs, his eyes opening slightly.

"G- Gerard, I'm so sorry, I-" I stutter.

"Frank, what's the matter, baby?" he asks, stroking my hair as I hyperventilate. "Calm down, it's okay."

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

I feel as though I'm breathing through a straw.

"What are you talking about?"

"I had a dream, th-that I-I-" I gulp. "We were in a car crash- and- I think I died, Gee."

"Oh, baby, no- it's okay."

"N-no, it's not- I- I died in your arms, and- and you were screaming for me to wake up, and I was trying to keep my eyes open and I j-just couldn't, and-"

"Frankie, don't worry." He rests a hand on my cheek and gently caresses it with his thumb. "It's alright, baby. I won't let that happen to us. You're safe here."

Slowly, my breathing begins to even out again.

"I'm just scared of that kind of shit, you know?" I think back to the reoccurring nightmare I had a couple of months back, where I'd find myself in a graveyard at my own funeral, Gerard being the only person to stand at my grave after the ceremony had ended.

"Try not to think about it, baby. Stuff like that doesn't happen as much as you'd expect. It's going to be okay. I love you."

"I love you too."

I bury myself into Gerard's chest and let out the remainder of my tears, as he strokes my hair softly before he drifts off to sleep.

"Goodnight, Gee."

"Goodnight, Frankie. I miss you," he mutters, half-asleep.

_I miss you?_


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like y'all deserve a bit of an early chapter bc ur all nice n ily huehehe :)

Gerard's POV

-

I'm immune to the cold sensation from the metal door handle that chills my hand as I open the doors to the ICU.

The droning sounds of the ventilator is blocked out by any dread or grief that is scattered around my brain, along with the beeping and whirring of several other machines Frank's been hooked onto.

I fucking hate it here. I never like coming. I'm just trying to stay a bit more fucking positive, though. Ray said it might help with the grief.

It's been two months without Frank now. _Two whole months._  
It feels like a year with him gone. The box containing the unworn engagement ring still sits heavy with memories in my left coat pocket. Blood still lines the edges of my sleeves, despite all of my attempts to scrub it off to rid myself of any reminders of the accident.

I just can't let go of the ring.

I sit down beside him and look down at him, smiling a little. He looks so peaceful. Sometimes I wonder if he can actually hear me. Or if he can't, whether he's dreaming of something pleasant. I hope he is. I just want him to _remember._

"I miss you." I break the eerie silence that sits in the corner of the room. "I hope you're doing well in there. Hopefully you're dreaming of something nice."

I caress his cheek gently with my thumb, tracing over the pale feeding tube that rests against his face and travels into his nose.

"So, uh, I went through our stuff earlier," I say, desperately trying to keep the mood slightly more positive than usual. "I found a few pictures of us from when we first met..."

I reach into my pocket and pull out a couple of slightly damaged, pen-smudged Polaroid pictures from my pocket. It's Frank and I, sat on a bench in the graveyard where we'd always meet. Our lips are interlocked and our cheeks are flushed. It's our first kiss.

Looking at them, I can remember everything so clearly- the nerves that built up within me; the rush of fear that swept over me as if to tell me to stop; the sudden click of the camera's shutter as our lips collided.

That's what started it all.

"It's our first kiss, Frankie." I explain, "We were sat on that bench in the graveyard, and I started taking photos of you as 'art references' or whatever, and then- then I got kind of carried away and well, we kissed."

_Silence._

"Do you remember that?"

I begin to tear up. This time, it's not the anger or the grief that's getting to me. I just miss him. I just want Frank back.

I press the photos to my chest and smile weakly through my tears as they begin to roll down my cheeks.

"Oh, Frankie. I hope you're the same as you were back then when you wake."

Animated in my head, the memories of Frank and I, running through an empty, forest-surrounded graveyard replays in my head. It's like a fuzzy little TV, sitting at the back of my brain and collecting dust. It feels like I'm sitting in front of it; a box of old cassette tapes in my lap, inserting tape after tape, in an attempt to desperately hold onto what I might only have left of Frank.

Echoes of things we've said to one another bounce around in my mind.

_"Does this mean you're my boyfriend or whatever? Or are we just-" Frank asks, curled up beside me._

_"It can mean whatever you want it to mean," I reply calmly. I remember the excitement that bubbled up within me as he said that. I didn't know how to respond properly._

We were so fucking innocent back then, despite it only being two years ago. I miss that.

I wish I could plant a kiss on his tragic lips, or hold him tight in my arms like the world is falling apart.  
I don't want to see him, dependent on machines, not knowing how to breathe on his own anymore. Not remembering who I am as he wakes up, me clinging to his arm as I excitedly encourage him to open his eyes. And then I find out he's never going to be able to walk again, or that he doesn't know how to function normally anymore.

I miss when he'd kiss my cheek softly every morning, and when we would hug each other he'd wrap his arms around my waist and bury his head in my chest because he'd be too short to reach me at head-height.

I hate walking into his room to see a bunch of nurses cleaning him up, or pumping him with more medication. Or when I walk in and the room is totally empty- just him, alone on his bed, withering away. He's so unaware. So fucking comatose.  
Oh, to think that he was going to be awake after just a few weeks of recovery.

"Please, wake up, baby," I say, running my fingers through one of the overgrown blonde sides of his hair. He'd never changed that part about him, throughout the two whole years of knowing him. I'd gone through countless hair colors since meeting him, while his just stayed the same. 

I kiss his cheek lightly and sigh longingly, feeling the tears clinging to the rims of my eyes. "We didn't know what was coming for us, did we?" I ghost my hand along the side of his bed. "I wish everything could go back to the way it was. You don't deserve this. I'm so sorry."

"But we're going to make it through, okay? Promise. I love you."

I long to see the day he can tell me that he loves me too again.

"I start work next week, anyway. I have two new jobs. I'm gonna work at the record store where you usually work, filling in your shifts and stuff, then I'm gonna work at Mikey's comic store like usual, and then Bob's gonna let me lend a hand at that shitty coffee shop that's around the corner from our house." I smile falsely, knowing deep down that three jobs probably isn't going to be enough for Frank's medical bills alone, let aside living expenses. "It's all going to work out, baby."

I fiddle with his bedsheets anxiously, before standing up and giving him another kiss on the cheek. "I have to go now. Wake up soon, please, darling- I miss you."  
I shove my hands in my pockets and begin walking down the hallway towards the exit.

"Mr Way?" I hear a voice from behind me. I turn around- it's Ray. He looks worried.

"Oh, hey. What's up?" I say, leaning casually against the wall beside me.

"Look, this probably isn't the right time to tell you this, but- it's Frank..."

"W-what?" I stutter, panicked. _Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

"We ran a few tests on him the other day and- uh, well- his chances of waking up-" He sighs, "They're pretty low."

My heart plummets to the floor in disbelief.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the moment you've all been waiting for hehe. also i'm so sorry i had to follow the whole 'frank has a bad relationship with his parents' trope- it's necessary, i guess.

Frank's POV

-

Alternative fucking English.  
One of the only lessons of the day where nobody gives a fuck if I don't do my work. Here, I can think; free of any teacher's grasp.

I think about Gerard. How soft his lips are pressed against mine. The sensation of the heat our bodies give off as we lay in bed together. How we fit so perfectly together when we interlock.

My parents still don't know about us. I don't really know how I'm going to tell them. I guess I love them and all, but they don't know shit about me.  
They still like to make me go to church with them. They forced me into a Catholic school. They constantly urge me to go see my old church friends from when I was a kid, most of which are still devoted Christians to this day. They tell me how I dress and how I act is wrong- how fucking tragic it would be if their only son became the frontman of a shitty punk band, whose only gigs are in support of slightly more popular shitty punk bands.

They think being gay is a deadly sin- always complaining about LGBT people in movies and TV shows; showing no remorse when they lecture me about how 'all gay people go to hell'. To them, I'm still their Catholic boy. I know for a fact that they'd hate to see the sight of me if the truth about Gerard and I. Let's just hope they don't start catching on about Gerard and I, for the time being.

I snap back into reality for a second, hearing Mr White, my teacher, calling my name.

"Huh, Sir?"

"Do you have that assignment?"

"What?"

"That one you promised you'd hand into me the other day."

_Shit._

My face grows hot with guilt.

"That's another after-school detention with me, Iero." He shakes his head, folding his arms like my parents would after lecturing me about coming home late or some shit. "Honestly, you're going nowhere in life at this rate."

"What, a detention? That's not fair!"

"And why's that, then?"

"I didn't even get to-"

"It's obvious you didn't even do the assignment. I can clearly tell by the look on your face that you didn't even try to have a go at it, meaning you'll stay with me and learn your lesson." He spits, "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

_Fuck._

-

The five other kids in my class scramble out of the door, leaving just me in there, along with Mr White.

He sits at his desk, typing away at his computer. He looks at me for a second, judgingly watching me tap my foot against the gray linoleum floor. I stare at the chipping plaster walls, admiring its sickening cream tinge.

There are dicks scrawled across every wall at table-height, along with the names and initials of freshman couples that lasted only weeks, written in hearts and little boxes.

Suddenly, I hear a door open. I feel a slight draft of air against my face, and a sharp antiseptic scent that fills my nostrils,  
The door is shut. So are the windows. How the fuck is this supposed to work?

"Did they let Frank's parents know?" an echo of a female voice mutters quietly from one side of me.

I almost spring out of my seat, spinning my head around to locate the person talking. There's nobody there, though it feels like she's next to me.

"Yeah, they were told. You know- they haven't visited once since Frank was put in here. I think the only visitor that's been to see him is, uh Gerard- his boyfriend." Another voice says from the other side of me. This time, it's a man's voice. It's very soft and chirpy, but completely unfamiliar. Again, there's nobody else in the room apart from my teacher.

And how the fuck do they know Gerard?

"And how did he respond to the news?" the woman replies.

What news? What the fuck is happening? Where are these voices even coming from? They seem to be talking in such a tone that the noise level in the room would be high enough for Mr White to hear them, yet their voices appear quiet, like small murmurs in my ears.

The man continues, "Oh, he was torn. I feel bad for the guy- first his boyfriend literally fell into a coma after they were in that accident, and now he's been told he might not even survive. That must be so hard for him. Well, both of them, to be hones," he sighs. "Poor kid. He doesn't stand a chance."

Knocking my chair against the wall, I suddenly stand up. "What the fuck is going on?"

Mr White slams his hand down on his desk. "Mr Iero! Sit down!" he yells. "I don't want to hear you using that language again in my classroom, you hear me?"

"Yeah, Sir. Sorry."

My heart pounds like a drum. I think I'm going fucking crazy. An accident? Falling into a coma?

"Between you and me," the female voice whispers, coming in a little closer. She sounds rather concerned. "You think he'll make it?"

"I don't know. He's definitely stable, but his brain activity's been going all over the place recently. I don't think he's gonna be the same at all- if and when he wakes up, that's for sure. I mean, the brain damage he received from that crash... that was life-threatening." His voice is solemn and firm, as if he's mourning a loss, or delivering some painful news.

From the woman's side, there's a steady beeping.

"This is probably so distressing for his boyfriend."

Gerard? Is he okay?

"He's not taking it in well, that's for sure. Frank seems to be his be-all and end-all. Apparently the paramedics found him holding Frank in his arms at the scene of the crash."

"Poor guy..."

"Yeah, well let's just hope he pulls through. God, I might cry if he wakes up, whether that's from sadness or joy, I don't know. Gerard's gonna be so upset if he wakes up and he's not the sa-" The voice comes to a halt. There's a sharp scratch against my arm, like the tip of a needle digging into my skin, or a bee-sting.

"Ow, fuck," I exclaim in surprise, before gasping and clapping a hand over my mouth. "Sorry, Sir."

"Right, Iero, I've had enough of your _foul_ language for one day. You're free to go now, but once Monday comes around, it's my office, straight after school for you. Got that, kid?"

"Yeah." I stand up and quickly grab my bag, immediately making a beeline to the door. "Bye."

I notice I'm shaking, likely with a mix of fear and embarrassment.  
Those fucking voices sounded all too real, in a way I can't explain.

-

"Frankie- where were you?" My mom rushes into the living room to see me on the couch, legs-crossed, a fistful of popcorn in my hand, glued to the music video currently playing on MTV.

My mom's brown bob is tied into a scrawny little ponytail, poking out at the back of her head. She twirls her little cross necklace in her fingers.

"I had a detention. Forgot my assignment."

"Gosh, again?"

"Yeah, sorry," I mumble, shoveling another load of popcorn into my mouth.

"Frank, I told you. You have to knuckle down in school now! You're almost in Senior year, and I do not want to see you falling behind a grade because of your lack of interest in academic subjects." She angrily points a finger at me, her eyes wide with rage. "You hear me?"  
I'm actually quite intimidated.

"Yes, Mom. I said I'm sorry."

"Okay, but sorry doesn't cut it right now, Frank. You need to stop hanging out with your friends all the time and start studying."

_Haha, 'friends'._

"Yeah, I'll start revising and stuff, I swear."

"Alright. Oh, and turn that MTV crap off, please. It's brainwashing."

I wish I could stand up and tell her to fuck off, but I know I'd never hear the last of it. Or worse, she'd tell me to find somewhere else to go for a few nights whilst she cries to my dad about how I'm an awful son.

I can't get a fucking break in this house. I just want to see Gerard.

I take my phone out of my hoodie pocket and flip it open.

 **1 Unread message** , it reads.

I click it open.

_Gerard: Hey :-)_

I type out a reply back.

_frnk: hey, g. how r things?_

_Gerard: Pretty cool. How about u? i miss u btw :-((_

_frnk: rad. weird day 4 me i guess. had a detention n heard all these voices around me about me bein in a coma and u bein really sad about it, lol. also, i miss u too :-(_

_Gerard: Maybe it was something to do with that dream from the other nite? Or ur prob just really tired loool_

_frnk: well according to some random dude in my thoughts, i hav severe brain damage n prob won't live ahaha_ , I joke.

_Gerard is typing..._

_frnk: reply pls lmao this is kinda freaky_

_Gerard: Lol. I love u!!!! I wouldn't let that happen to u bby. I would simply force u to live._

_frnk: thank u loool. btw, i love u too, g !!! <3_


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're officially halfway to the end !! i hope you guys like this chapter ;)

Gerard's POV

-

The cafe's walls are tiled and clad with local advertisements and newspaper cut-outs.  
The music on the radio is shitty and generic, only playing the same songs every few hours in what seems like a big, long circle.

Bob scrubs the empty tables clean whilst I take orders, scrawling them down in a half-torn notepad with a broken ballpoint pen.

The customers here seem to usually be families of two or three, coming here as a last-resort option- probably because all the other cafes in town are either shut or full.

This place looks like what every other cafe has spat out on the ground and stood on it.

After doing a shift at the comic book store already, I'm fucking worn out. I have another shift to run at the record store later, too- the one Frank used to work at.

The final customer of the day approaches the counter. I slowly prepare their black decaf to-go and hand them their order. I try and not look like a miserable piece of shit, but I think I've stopped caring.

"Gerard, please, don't mope around like this. It's really bad for the business, to be honest." Bob approaches me, holding a bottle of surface cleaner one hand.

I can feel my face grow hot, like a kettle coming up to its boil. "Are you fucking serious?" I shout, tears filling my eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"Frank is fucking dying. That's all I can think about at the minute! I'm not supposed to fucking be here."

"Yeah, but still, I mean-"

"Please, I'm just waiting on a call from them to tell me he's braindead or something, do you think I want that, Bob?"

His face contorts from anger to sympathy.

"I'm the one who has to pay for all of this. I have three jobs, you know. I can't even afford my own food anymore." I think of the week-old bag of groceries on my kitchen table, its contents rotting away or waiting to be eaten. "His parents don't give a shit. Do you know how hard it is to sit with your dying boyfriend every day, waiting for him to wake up, and _probably_ to find out that he's not even going to pull through?! I don't think you do, Bob. Fire me, for all I care, but I really need this money right now."

He looks shocked.

I gasp, realizing what I've said. "Oh my god, I-I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to- I sound like I'm trying to guilt-trip you. I- I didn't mean to talk to you like that, I don't know what came out of me-"

"No, Gerard, it's okay. I should have been more considerate. Let's talk." He smiles. "Shift's over now, anyway, so we're all good."

He flips the 'open' sign to 'closed', clearing any possible customers out of the way. He makes us each a coffee, and we sit down on a table in the corner of the room. My metal chair is wobbling against the floor, its legs bent out of proportion to one another.

"Right, just let it all out, okay?" he says, giving me a signalling little nod.

"Well, uh- I'm really struggling right now. I- I'm grieving him, yet I'm barely giving myself time to grieve, in a way. Everything is moving so fast." I drum my fingers against the wooden table. "Now that Frank's, well, pretty much gone for now, I feel so fucking alone."

"Yeah."

"There's nobody else out there like him, Bob. He's my everything. I don't really get out much usually, so now that Frank's not even here to talk to me, I literally have no-one. I can't afford therapy, of course." My voice becomes shaky again. "I can't believe this is all because we- we were hit by a drunk-driver. It was our car that was damaged the most out of the two. It fucking flipped. I can't get it fixed or anything now. I have to pay for a taxi every single fucking day so I can get to and from the hospital. And it's so hard to get in a car, like- I have to build myself up. I'm so, scared. All the time."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That must be really horrible." Bob takes a sip of his coffee and taps a finger against the rim of the mug.

"Frank sustained a bunch of really horrible injuries. He has like- severe brain damage and spinal damage, apparently. Ray said he's not gonna remember me when he wakes up. He might not even be able to perform basic tasks anymore without rehabilitation, which is gonna cost me so much more. It's gonna be so hard for both of us, I just know it..." I burst into tears, my body wracking with sobs each second. I feel heavy.

"Fuck." 

The clock on the wall grows louder and louder. Each tick feels like another punch to the stomach.

I pull a small matchbox out of my pocket, which I keep in there to fidget with. I play with it nervously, throwing it back and forth between my hands as the matches inside of it shake.

"I think the worst part about it was that he said my name just as he was falling unconscious. I don't know why or how he remembered it or whatever. And then in the ambulance, his eyes kept opening and closing, and- and it was like he was literally on the verge of death." Tears drip from my face and onto the table, staining the wood a darker shade of brown.

My feet tap wildly against the floor. Bob bites his nails anxiously.

The cheerful music playing on the radio on the cafe's speakers juxtaposes my sorrows. It almost feels like it's mocking me.

"I- I was gonna propose to him that night, you know. At the Smashing Pumpkins concert. We were so excited. The ring is still in my pocket. Sometimes I like to imagine what his reaction would have been like if- if we'd have made it."

"Gerard, I'm lost for words. All I can say is that I'm so sorry. This must be so hard..."

"T-thanks, Bob. He's fighting, I guess."

"How's he doing now? Is he improving- or?"

"He's stable. Apparently his brain activity has been a little off recently, so it's kind of hard to tell what's going on with him." I put my head in my hands, letting my tears run down the palms of my hands. "It's so hard walking into his room and seeing him asleep. He's got all these tubes and IVs put in place. I can't even see him breathing- he's on a ventilator, so there's this tube down his throat that does it all for him, or whatever. He's kinda between life and death at the minute, and it's fucking terrifying."

"Oh my god, that sounds awful."

"He just looks so worn down all the time. Like, even though he's being fed through a tube and stuff, he still looks so... _skinny_ , and so fucking tired. It looks like he hasn't slept in days, despite him being in a coma for like- a month and a half now."

My ears ring. My brain screams. What the fuck am I doing? Why am I telling him all of this?

"Yeah, I'm never giving up on him, though. His parents have total control over what happens to him, but they're basically out of the picture. I'm just making sure they aren't considering switching off his life support or something. I- I think that's the worst thing that could happen, in our case."

"Mhm." Bob nods, before glancing at the clock. "Look, man, I'd let you rant some more, but I gotta get back home. You okay now?"

"That's fine- I have a shift at the record store soon anyway. Also, yeah, I feel a little bit better, actually. Everything's been building up a lot lately, so this helped." I smile.

"Good."

-

I stand behind the cash register at the record store. The counter sits directly opposite to the window, which looks onto the town center. It's so fucking weird to see people just... walking around, getting on with their days. I think I'm trapped in my own little bubble.

"Hey, Gerard, right?" a voice says from the back-room door behind me.

"Huh?" I turn around to see a lanky guy with long, greasy hair, grinning sarcastically from ear to ear.

"I'm Bert," he replies. "Heard you were covering Frank's shifts or something."

"Uh, yeah..."

"So do you know how all this shit works?" He points to the cash register in front of me.

"Yep, I just had a shift at the coffee store down the road-"

"Good, because I don't know how I'm supposed to 'train you up' on working one of those old things." He cuts me off.

"Oh, okay."

I rest my head on one hand, leaning against the counter, and tap my feet to the music that plays quietly around the store

"Hey, so you're uh, Frank's boyfriend, yeah?" Bert asks, sitting on the counter.

"Yeah."

"Cool. He's great working here."

"He used to really love this job, man. I just hope he can actually get back to work, you know-"

"Yeah, uh, he always used to be too short to reach all the stuff on the highest shelves in the back room. We all used to have a running joke about it." Bert giggles. His laugh sounds nothing like Frank's, yet part of it just reminds me of his.

I miss Frank's laugh.

How he'd giggle at practically anything I'd say. He'd just laugh along with everything. I could have said the strangest shit, and Frank would have laughed. I'd ask why, and he would tell me it's just because I'm cute.

_"Oh my fucking god, I love you," he'd say._

_"I love you too, Frankie," I would say, bending my head downwards to kiss his lips._

"Gera-aard?"

I blink, realizing I'd just stared off into space again.

"Wow, you're kinda quiet, huh?"

"Am I really, though?" I ask, hesitantly.

"Just didn't expect you to be so... not talkative." Bert swings himself off the counter and stands behind the cash register as soon as a customer walks through the door. "Frank told me a lot about you, so, uh, I just assumed you'd-"

"What'd he say?"

"Oh, a whole bunch of stuff. Nothing really negative, to be honest. He's right about you being cute though, oh my god."

I feel myself blush. "Wow, he told you I was cute?"

"Yeah, he'd fucking rave about you all the time, man."

I laugh tucking a strand of black hair behind my ear.  
"I really miss him."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! sorry for the late chapter- this hasn't been very fun to write, to be honest. i hope you enjoy it though.  
> i promise the pace picks up again within the next few chapters !

Frank's POV

-

"I love you, Gee."

"I love you too, Frank." He bends down to kiss me on the forehead, before wrapping his black and gray scarf around both of our necks, locking us together.

I giggle, before resting my head against his chest as we sit on the bench in the graveyard.  
It's been a while since our last graveyard visit. A month has gone by, and we've spent most of the time at Gerard's house.

Yet again, my parents are still blissfully unaware of my relationship with Gerard. I'm scared of telling them anything at the moment, in fear that they'll throw me out of the house.

Gerard runs his fingers through one of the overgrowing blonde sides of my hair, playing with his matchbox in the other hand.

"What's the deal with the matchbox thing, anyway? It always confuses me." I look down at the box as it rattles in his hand.

"I don't really know." He shrugs. "I guess they were to stop me from smoking and shit like that. I try not to actually light the matches because, well- I don't wanna set someone on fire, but I guess they give me a little distraction from stress. I like the little noise they make when I shake the box. Calms me down."

"Oh, I get that."

"Yeah."

Gerard wraps me in his arms again and kisses the top of my head. I feel so tiny when I'm with him. I can literally sit on his lap and apparently I'm so small he doesn't even feel my weight. I can't tell whether that's true, though.

"Oh, hey, I brought something." He shuffles up and unwraps the scarf from around both of us. He reaches into the inside of his coat and pulls out a book- its cover smooth and encased in black leather. Held on top of it by his thumb is a tin of art pencils. "I thought I'd sit and draw something whilst we were here."

"Fuckin' sick!" I grasp the book from Gerard's hands and flick through the pages, admiring how delicate his artwork is.

"Wait, Frankie, don't-"

"Oh my god, look at this shit, Gee- you're amazing. You could be a professional artist or something."

"Thank you." He blushes, giggling. "Yeah, being an actual artist is kinda my aim..."

"Really? That's so cool!"

"Yeah. Gonna get myself a job at the comic book store, make a bit of a living out of that and then somehow try and make it as an artist or whatever."

"That'd be so fucking rad!" I exclaim. It would be so cool having an artist for a boyfriend. That's the kind of shit you'd tell people when you first meet them, and they start being all like 'wow, really?' and then Gerard would get all blush-y and embarrassed and then I'd tell them about what he does and-

"It's just hard to live off making art, though. I'd have to work for some massive corporation." He looks disappointed.

"Damn. It'll work out though, right?"

"I hope. I don't really like planning out my life and all that, but I think roughly what I wanna do is become an artist, get myself a house and then maybe settle down, you know? Maybe start a family or something..."

"Amazing. I hope I'll be with you too when all of that happens." I laugh, "I wanna be in a punk band. It probably won't work out as a career, but it'd be cool. I mean- I'm good enough at guitar."

"Sounds edgy. I could design your merch," Gerard jokes.

He kisses me lightly on the cheek and grins.  
God, I love him so much.

Turning back to the sketchbook, I flick to a random page and stare at it; studying the delicately drawn lines that dance across the paper, fine-lined in thick, black ink. It's me.

I'm sat in a tree branch, my legs dangling from it. I look as though my head is resting against the trunk.  
He's got me spot-on. From my facial features to the way I always cross my legs when I'm sitting down.

"This is beautiful, Gee. It's so accurate."

"Thank you, baby."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

We sit in silence for a moment, my head on Gerard's shoulder.

"I've just realized something," he says.

"What?"

"It's been three months now since we first met here." He smiles. "I remember that night so clearly. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Wait- that means it's been just over three months that I first had that daydream- the one where I was standing at my own funeral; where I saw Gerard.  
I'm still constantly questioning why I saw him there. I'd never even met him at that point.

"Woah, that's weird. Time's gone fast," I reply. "I couldn't stop thinking about you either..."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey !! everything from last chapter will be explained later on in the story, don't worry if you're confused !  
> also, why not leave a comment on this chapter or something ? would be nice to see your reactions for this chapter hehe. anyway, enjoy !

Gerard's POV

-

I lock the cash register drawer and shove the keys into a compartment under the counter.  
Bert swings childishly on the back-room door behind me as he waits for me to get the keys to lock up the shop. I can hear the loose screws in the door handle rattling. I fucking hate working here.

This isn't my least favorite place to work, however.

I think the cafe is the worst. Watching its white walls as I work, hearing the whirring of the lights on the ceiling. It weirdly reminds me of the hospital in ways I don't want it to. Everything just feels so empty all the time when I'm there, despite Bob's desperate efforts to talk to me.

"Where are you heading after this?" Bert asks.

"The hospital. Seeing Frank again." I sigh.

"Cool," he says, in the least interested you could possibly say the word 'cool' in. "Can I come? I'll drive."

-

The corridors seem dim at night. All that shine through are the lights coming from within the hospital rooms.  
I walk down to Frank's room, Bert trailing behind me.

"Shit, must be bad, I guess," he says, staring at the distraught-looking visitors passing by us.

"We're in the fucking intensive care unit, Bert. Of course it's bad. Nobody's ever happy to come visit someone in here."

"Oh. Well, uh, maybe someone who's really fucking weird would be happy."

"Like you?"

"Fuck off, Gerard." He laughs.

I shush him as we find ourselves in front of Frank's room. "Okay, seriously, don't be loud in here, please."

"Nah, I won't." He shrugs, although I'm not too convinced.

Bert looks dumbfounded as I open the door, "What the fuck? You didn't tell me he was this bad."

"He-he's in a coma. I don't know what you're expecting." I retaliate, feeling a little hurt.

"I don't know. I just wasn't expecting... that."

"Whatever," I say, making my way towards the chair beside Frank's bed. I sit myself down in the closest chair to where his head rests and slip my hand into his. "Hey, baby. I know it's late, but I brought a friend with me. I didn't think you'd mind," I say, comfortingly. "Say hi, Bert."

"Hey, baby." He winks.

I kick him in the ankle, only half-playfully.

"Alright, I'm going to make this one really quick, okay? They don't really like me being here at night. I hope you understand." I caress his pale cheek.

"Can he hear you? Does he talk back to you through his brainwaves or something?" Bert raises an eyebrow, pointing at one of the several monitors Frank's hooked up to.

"They don't know. _Apparently_ talking to coma patients can help wake them up faster."

"Wild." I realize that I'm not comfortable with him being here. It feels... wrong. I don't know whether it's a shock-based reaction, or if he's just _like that_ , but he doesn't seem sad at all. I want him to stay, but I can't help but feel that he's trying to bring me down even more.

I turn back to Frank. "We have to head off. Wake up soon, okay Frankie? I miss you a whole fucking lot." I kiss him lightly on the forehead and stroke the top of his head. His hair's grown a bit since the last time I saw him awake. I should probably ask for someone to cut it- he never liked the sides growing out too long.

"Are we leaving?"

"Yep." I sigh, getting out of my seat.

"Okay. Bye, Frank. Gerard's really missing your cute ass. I do too. Wake the fuck up!"

We leave Frank' room and begin walking out of the hospital.  
Bert lights himself a cigarette.

"You're not so great at this shit, are you?" I say, taking my matchbox out of my pocket and playing around with it a little.

"What?"

"Visiting Frank. You don't seem very... _empathetic_." "Wow, way to be fucking blunt about it." 

"What's your deal?"

"My deal?"

"I mean why the fuck are you being like this?"

"I- I don't know. I guess I'm just scared."

"Oh. Well, I am too."

There's a sudden silence. Bert stamps out his cigarette until it becomes a pulp against the wet sidewalk.  
"I- I'm sorry. Let me drive you home," he says, offering me a hand to pull me up.

-

The car sits outside of the house in the dark. 

"You wanna come in?" I ask, hesitantly. This'll be the first other person I've had in the house in three months now.

The house is still empty and sad. The curtains in mine and Frank's bedroom window are constantly shut. The lights are hardly ever on. The living room is a mess of dirty art supplies and unopened letters.  
The kitchen table is scattered with ageing groceries, having rolled out of their ripped paper grocery bag.

There's never much food in the fridge. Only alcohol, which was usually brought by guests as gifts when they'd come over. Frank and I never used to drink it, though.  
I don't eat much anymore. I want to save my money to pay the bills for Frank's treatment, so I just pick from random tins in the cabinets, or I'll find an instant meal in the freezer from time-to-time and make myself that.  
Bob likes to sneak me a few things from the cafe sometimes for me to take home. That's all I really have, though.  
But it's worth it for Frank.

Bert and I walk into the living room and throw ourselves on a sofa each. He already seems to have gotten comfortable.

"Dude, there's so much art crap around here," He says, picking up a watercolor-stained paintbrush from the coffee table.

"Yeah. I used to produce art constantly, but I guess that all changed since the accident. I was gonna try and become a cartoonist or a comic artist or something..."

"Fuck." He sighs. "What _happened_ happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh." Out of all of the things he could have asked, _of course_ he had to go for this question, "Uh- car crash. We were slammed into by a drunk driver. I- I don't know if it also had something to do with the snow or not, but it was f-fucking horrible either way. We basically flipped over. Frank's side was fucked up. I- I made it out okay." My leg bounces nervously. Why did I decide to tell him this? "The driver- I- I don't know what happened to him. I was so focused on Frank the whole time. Anyway, he fell into a coma..." I grip my hair in sheer frustration, "His parents have control over what happens to him. They don't give a fuck about their son. They won't help me p-pay the medical bills, even though t-they said they would. They're just watching the money pile. They won't pull his life support or anything, b-but they'll pretend he doesn't exist until he p-possibly wakes up... the doctors said he might not."

The sound of Frank's voice rattles in my head whilst I speak.  
_"Gee... it hurts..."_ I can hear him saying, as I picture him falling unconscious in my arms.

"Sorry," Bert says. 

"Yeah..."

"I mean it."

"How about a drink?"

-

My head spins in a drunken haze.  
The harsh burn of alcohol stings the back of my throat as I reluctantly push back another shot of vodka.

What the fuck am I doing? I haven't drank in years.

Bert sits on the sofa opposite me. He lies there, staring at the ceiling absent-mindedly.

"I miss Frank," I say, but my speech is slurred. My thoughts don't feel connected to my body anymore.

"Me fucking too," He replies.

"Like, you know, I just want to be with him and- and he's all I have, and I fucking hate this. I can't believe he's gone just like that." My words seem to make sense now, but I'm stuck with the knowledge that they won't sound the same in my head tomorrow morning. "It was so sudden... and like- what if he does die? What if his parents just... kill him? That'd be weird. His parents are freaks. Cult shit, probably."

"You're weird, Gerard."

"I'm so fucking alone." Tears I didn't even realize I had spill over my eyes. "I'm so tired." I don't even sound sad. I don't feel sad, either. I'm just fucking drunk.

"You're cute."

"Fuck off." I giggle.

"C'mere." He urges me towards him. I dizzily stand up and try to coordinate myself to the sofa he's on, eventually crashing beside him.

"I love you, Bert," I laugh. "More than anything else in the world."

"No- no you don't-"

"Yeah, I do." My head rolls around dazedly. "I fucking love Bert McCracken!" I yell at the ceiling."

We fall into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Everything spins around my head in slow motion. I begin to press up against his chest as I laugh.

This isn't happiness, though. I just feel like I'm falling into a spiral of trying to numb my pain. I don't fucking want that. Bert won't want that.

Frank definitely wouldn't want that either. When he was awake, he'd get upset at my unhealthy coping mechanisms when I'd use them. If he knew I was drinking right now, he'd be so disappointed in me. Mikey would be mad at me too, especially if any of this carries on into some sort of addiction.

I just don't know how to control myself in this mindset. I need to stop, but my brain keeps telling me 'one more shot'. At this point, I don't feel like I'm drinking for entertainment purposes anymore.

I notice Bert and I growing closer as we continue to exaggeratedly laugh. There's suddenly a weird pause. It feels like time has stopped.  
We just stare into each other's eyes like we're in some sort of fucked-up romcom movie, and lean in closer until we fall into a kiss.

I slowly slip my tongue between his slightly parted lips as he willingly grips the back of my shirt. He tastes of cigarettes and alcohol.  
Our bodies press together heatedly against the sofa.

For a moment, this feels okay. The soft moans coming from either of us seem to drown the rest of my thoughts. Euphoria replaces my sorrows like a drug, despite the fact that I know the comedown from this is going to be so much worse.

He drunkenly fumbles to take off my shirt as I teasingly dance my hand down his torso and just above his waistband.

Abruptly, I feel a sharp slap on the back of my hand. He pulls away. I stare at him in confusion.

"No." He shakes his head. He looks panicked.

"I- I thought you wanted this," I stutter, grabbing my shirt from the coffee table and sliding it back on.

"I did. But now I don't want it. I can't do it." He pants, "Look- you're in love. I don't care whether Frank's going to wake up or not, but this isn't right. You and Frank are meant for each other. I saw how you acted in the hospital- you love him. You're drunk, and you'll regret this tomorrow. I promise."

"Oh, Bert..." The guilt hits me like a truck. It's like the pit in my stomach has grown deeper as the shock has begun to inhabit me.

I slowly run my fingers through my hair, gripping at it with my hand. Staring at the floor, I can feel the burn of the tears building over in my eyes. They begin to fall.

"What have I fucking done, Bert?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> side note: bert is NOT a bad guy, nor is he supposed to be seen as 'the drunk'. he is simply just another character in the story. make of him what you will, of course- same applies for all of the other characters in this story- but i never intended for him to be 'the bad guy'. 
> 
> also, i'm so, so sorry.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready, lads ! also, maybe leave a comment or somethin ? again, it'd be nice to see your reactions with this one.

Frank's POV

-

I lightly pluck at the strings of my guitar, resting it against my lap as I sit on my bed.

Gerard is cross-legged on the floor, searching through the reams of half-written songs I keep in a box under the bed, usually hidden away so that my parents can't see it.

They're out of the house this weekend. They travelled down to New York to meet up with some distant cousin or some shit, so they left the house to me, seeming unusually trusting about it. I promised them I'd sit and study until they get back the following morning.

So, Gerard is here. He thinks my family's customs are fucking weird, but I'm not too surprised. I do too.

"Holy shit, some of these are... really fucking good." He admires the sheet of paper he's holding, smoothing it out against the floor with his hands. "I can totally see why you'd wanna be in a band. You have some really great materials to work with here."

"Thank you, baby." I grin. "I could play you something, if you'd like?"

He nods eagerly, and I begin to strum a little tune, going off one of the songs I've written.

The words aren't exactly perfect, but I sing them anyway. Gerard sways in time with the music, smiling politely.

When I finish, he just blushes. "That was amazing, Frankie. I love you so much." He stands up and kisses me lightly, before sitting back onto the floor

"I love you too!" I smile. "You're so cute."

"No, you are!" He laughs.

"You sound like we're in some sort of movie."

"I know." He says, "So, have you ever written any songs about _me_ , maybe?"

"I might have done that... a few times. I shall never reveal them, though. Not until the time is absolutely right." I smile. My plan is to play them for him when something big happens in our relationship, like- if I ever get the chance to propose to him, or if we've been together for a really long time.

"Okay. And when's that 'right time' going to be?"

"Well, I can't tell you that- not yet, anyway. That would ruin-"

"I miss you." He says, suddenly.

What the fuck?

I quirk a brow in confusion, watching him close his eyes; a blank expression taking form on his face.

"Baby?"

He says nothing for a few moments. Like a statue, he sits in the middle of the floor, his face unchanging, his body locked in position; set in stone.

"Baby... speak to me." I begin to panic a little.

"It's been four months. We all miss you." It's almost as though I can see tears, gently streaming down his face. The tone in his voice is unusually mournful. He looks like he did in my dream- the one I had before I'd even met him.

_A boy with long, jet-black hair and teal roots is on his knees, crying into his hands. I can't seem to get a good look at his face, but he seems fucking distraught._

"Gee, s-stop it. This isn't funny," I say, shakily.

"I wish you could wake up and see that I'm right beside you. I've been here the whole time..."

"No, no, no- please. Gerard, you know this shit scares me. Quit acting like I'm dying... please- you know I'm terrified of death." I can feel myself beginning to cry as I watch him, rocking back and forth, sobbing expressionlessly. It's like he's possessed.

"Wake up, baby."

"I'm awake! Please, stop it!"

I turn around to place my guitar back on its stand before I begin to spiral into an even more panicked state. Although, when I shift my eyes back onto Gerard, everything seems... normal.

It's like I've hallucinated the entire thing.

He's sitting on my floor, just rummaging through the box of songs again.

"What the fuck was that?" There's a quiver in my voice.

"What?"

"I said- what the fuck was that? What were you talking about just then?"

"I was saying how much I love how you write your songs. Are you okay, Frankie? You look really panicked."

"Stop it! You're still scaring me, baby!"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, Frank- are you sure you're alright? You can lie down if you'd like, I- I'll make you a drink, and-"

"I said I'm fine! Stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about, please!"

"What did I do?"

"You- you just- I can't believe you!"

"Baby..." He gets up to sit beside me as I tremble in fear; curled up into a ball, letting myself sob quietly.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

We're both crying in frustration and panic, merely confused at one another.

He keeps switching from asking me what's wrong, to acting like I'm dead all over again.

Why? Why is he doing this to me?

"Please, just get out," I say, pointing towards the door.

His face contorts to a sympathetic expression, the confusion in his eyes switching to anguish and sorrow. "Take your time, I believe in you, baby." He sighs, "I think the drugs are wearing off again."

"Get out!" I scream, "This isn't funny! You're just scaring me, Gee- I just want to talk to you about it, but you keep acting like nothing's happening."

His face changes again, switching back to the frustrated, confused look in his eyes once more. "Frank, I swear to fucking god, I'm not saying anything- I just told you I love you..."

"Fuck off!"

He runs down the stairs, making a beeline to the front door, burying his head in his hands.

Am I going crazy, or is this just some sort of sick joke that's being played on me?

His voice rings in my head.

_"I think the drugs are wearing off again."_

_"I think the drugs are wearing off again."_

_"Wake up, baby"_

_"Wake up, baby"_

Wake up from what, though?

I pinch my arm, hesitantly, making sure I actually _am_ awake. Nothing happens. Just a slight pain.

If I'm awake, then what the fuck is he talking about?


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi ! i went back and edited a few things on my chapters, so hopefully most errors have been cleaned up.

Gerard's POV

-

I sit at Frank's bedside, caressing the palm of his hand as the machines hum. Sometimes, it still feels so alienated to me- seeing my boyfriend lay deep in a coma.

I hate how the room is so sterile; how an antiseptic scent always clings to my clothes after I leave, reminding me of Frank's pain wherever I go. It doesn't help ease the pain at all. It just makes me miss him even more.

The thought of him being completely defenceless against anything the doctors force upon him terrifies me. He doesn't know what's going on. It feels twisted.  
All I want for him is to be safe again. Awake, at least. For currently, I'm constantly being followed by the idea of Frank's death. It sits heavy upon my shoulders, and I don't want to carry it with me anymore.

Everyone else seems so unperturbed by what's going on. The hospital staff all walk by with smiles drawn on their faces, going about their days. I don't know how they do it. Does this not damage them? 

It's like I'm trapped in my own bubble of sorrow, and I haven't figured a way to get out yet. Maybe if Frank came back, the bubble would pop.

"I miss you." I hang my head, letting my shoulders fall. "It's been almost four months, baby. _We_ miss you." My eyes well up as I rest my hand against the pale cheek of my sleeping lover.

Tears begin to stream down my face as I sit there, expressionless. "Wake up, baby."

The incident with Bert has made everything worse. We haven't really spoken since what happened. He's tried apologizing for even asking to get involved with me and Frank. I keep telling him it's okay- that it's not his fault at all. Because it's not; we both know that.

I've spiralled into endless fits of crying at night, refusing to sleep. I feel so guilty all over again. The voice in my head screams louder, telling me that this is all _my_ fault.

I haven't told Frank yet, out of fear that he can hear me; that he's responding to what's going on inside his head. What if he hates me for what I'm saying? Would he want me to feel this way about him?

There's a building urge that seems to be forcing me to get what I want to say out of my mouth- that if I don't, I'll feel even worse.

"Y-you know Bert?" The words tumble out. "Yeah, he visited a while back, remember, baby? So, basically, afterwards, h-he came back to our house that night, you see, and- and I told him about the accident and stuff, and things got a bit- uh-" I stop myself. Do I really want to tell him this? 

I clench my fists until my knuckles grow bright white, seething with resentment.

"Why can't I be fucking dead? Or- no, I don't want you to go through that. It hurts, baby. It really does." I whimper. "I- I hate this. I just want you to be happy. Why was it _us?_ Why not that drunk-driver? He took our lives from us."

There's still a part of my brain that tells me that it was I who caused the accident. It tries to let me know that I should be dead right now; rotting away six feet under. Although another part of my brain tells me that my death would put Frank into so much more pain that I'm in right now.

That scares me. The idea that the bubbly little character he usually is could just sink into some form of depression so fucking deep because of me. 

"What if you hate me when you wake up?" I cry, "You're not going to be the same, and neither am I. What if I'm a terrible person to you?"

I'm picturing myself in a life where all I do is look after Frank- him being so weak that he can't physically support himself anymore.  
I don't know what to do.  
I shouldn't live a life where I have to look at him every single day and just want to cry that this is all my fault.

"You're so gorgeous when you sleep." I smile weakly. "Just not like this. You don't look like... you."

Gazing at his face, I look at the way his lips are always slightly parted because of how the breathing tube has been inserted, or how sometimes a slight dusting of blush will appear on his cheeks, and the way there are two empty holes where his piercings used to be; one in his lip, one in his nose. 

I groan, "I've been working a lot lately. It's been tricky." I stroke his hair, combing my hands through the sides. "The only job I enjoy is the comic book store, and that's only because I'm used to working there anyway. _And_ because Mikey works there too, obviously. I should bring him to see you at some point."

"What else do I have to tell you?" I think out loud, "Oh- your parents are awful people. Remember then I told you they said they'd help pay ten percent of the medical bills or whatever? Yeah, they said that on the night I first saw you in here. It's been nearly four months, and they haven't spoken to me since. I don't even know how these bills are supposed to work, to be honest." I tap my foot against the floor. "But seeing as though we didn't really have very much to support ourselves _before_ the accident, it's been hard scraping together enough money to focus on paying for you."

I haven't really eaten much this week. I can't go out and buy food without feeling guilty anymore- it's like everything's about Frank now, and I'm starting to get sick of it. Everything I spend that isn't on anything to do with him feels wasteful and dirty- like I should be ashamed for something I haven't done wrong. I know he wouldn't want for me to feel this way.

"I just don't want you to die. You're a matter of urgency to me. I have a million things I have to do, but they seem so secondary now. I just want to make sure you're alright. That you're still... breathing, or whatever."

"I can't do this alone."

Suddenly, I hear a knock at the door. I look up to see Ray, standing there.  
"Hey, man. Just letting you know that we're gonna run some tests soon and get Frank refilled on his medication and all that, so you'll have to leave. We just need to make sure everything's running smoothly. That okay?"

"That's fine, yeah."

"Okay. I'll just be one minute." 

I turn back to Frank, sliding my fingers in with his. "I'm gonna go now. Wake up, baby. Take your time... I believe in you, okay?" I sigh. "The drugs are gonna wear off soon, I think. They're refilling them in a bit, I guess. I don't know how that's supposed to work. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, alright, baby? I love you."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is quite a quick chapter !! sorry ! thank u to the new readers i've been getting recently, btw !  
> also also- to my current readers- i went back and edited the story a little bit, so if you see some changes, it's because i've had to correct some things for accuracy reasons.  
> (also, i've had to change frank's dad's name in this fic to avoid confuuuusion)

Frank's POV

-

"I haven't seen you doing much studying, Frank. What's been going on?" my mom says sternly, straightening the cross necklace around her neck.

"I don't know, Mom. Sorry." I'm sat on the sofa opposite my parents, who are glaring at me furiously.

"You've been seeing your friends, haven't you? Sneaking out, hm?" she questions, folding her arms.

"No! I- I haven't seen him in two weeks- we had an argument!" I protest.

"What? Seen who?"

I kick myself in the ankle, realizing what I've just said.

"Nobody- I haven't seen anyone. I didn't mean that..."

My dad sits up. "Frank, I think your mother and I would like a proper explanation as to what's been going on here."

"I didn't mean to say that." I try to laugh off my 'mistake', anxiously. "I meant to say... me and my _friend group_ got into an argument. Nothing too bad."

"I don't think that's a good enough answer. Who's this boy you were just referring to? Why do you not want us to find out who he is?" My mother stands up, almost looming over me.

"A friend of mine." I lie.

"And what did you two get into an argument then, Frankie?"

"Don't call me that," I spit. "It was nothing- he just started saying some weird stuff about how I should 'wake up', and that he loves me-"

I didn't mean for that to slip out.

_I didn't fucking mean for that to slip out._

"What did you just say?" my dad scowls.

"No, you've got it wrong, I-"

"I won't hesitate to take you to the pastor, son. He'll correct you. You know how we feel about this." He retaliates.

"No, please, let me explain!"

"I don't think we need an explanation here, do we, John?"

"Shut up! Both of you!" I stamp my foot against the floor in order to grab their attention, "I meant- I meant that we got into an argument... _because_ he told me he loves me. I- I said I don't support that... because it's against my beliefs."

The lies that come out of my mouth feel dirty and reckless. I don't want to hide mine and Gerard's relationship this way.

"Really?" My mom smiles.

"Really. Now- I need to get some air- I- I think."

"Go on. We're proud of you for doing the right thing, Frank."

-

I sit on the bench in the graveyard, my jaw clenched, my fists balled tight. I seethe with anger to the point of tears. Why didn't I tell them the truth? Why did I have to lie that way?

I just want Gerard back, at this point. I don't care what he said to me. I just wish I could turn back on the way I got mad at him; on all of his countless unread messages and calls I never picked up in some stupid act of temper.

I keep practicing how I want to apologize to him inside my head, going over the phrases I know I need to say, imaginarily highlighting them.

_"Gee- I'm so sorry about what I said to you. I don't know why I acted like that. I don't really know what you were trying to say, but maybe we both made a mistake,"_ I'd say to him, pleadingly. _"I just want to know what was going on, but it's okay if you don't have an explanation. I- I don't have one either. I was horrible to you, and for what? Nothing. I shouldn't have been so harsh."_

I abruptly feel a tap on the shoulder; a hand running through my hair; someone slipping my fingers in with theirs. 

But nobody's there. 

It's just me and the wind. 

_"I miss you."_ , a familiar voice mutters in my ear. 

"What the fuck? Is that you, Gerard?" I turn around. I'm still completely alone, though. 

_"Baby, please- I don't know if I can do this anymore."_


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hihihi. not very proud of this one, but if you could leave a comment and let me know what you guys think of the story so far, that wud be v cool of you <3

Gerard's POV

-

I thumb the corners of the slightly tattered photo in my hand, staring at it intensely, tears in my eyes.

I'm sat on the bedroom floor, hunched over a box of pictures of me and Frank from before the accident. Two years worth of memories lie scattered in front of me. I fear this may be one of the few things I'll have left of him.

Along with the photos are his old songs. There're hundreds of them, mostly only half-finished and scrawled down quickly. He only ever played a few of them to me.

I put the photo I'm holding back in its pile and pull a song out of the box. Its title- _For Gerard._

Underneath it reads: 'Note to self- only play this when it's the right time.'

_"So, have you ever written any songs about me?" I say._

_"I might have done that... a few times. I shall never reveal them, though. Not until the time is absolutely right." He grins._

I smile shakily, my tears beginning to fall onto the paper.

The realization hits me that he never got to play that song to me. He probably never will.

He'll never get to listen to me telling him how happy it made me after he'd finish playing, or how talented I think he is. We've had those moments ripped away from us and it's not fucking fair. The thought is ever so slowly killing me.

"Oh, baby," I whimper. "I wish I could have saved you."

I yearn to hear him play that song.   
This isn't fair. I want him back- no- I _need_ him back.

It's tearing me apart.

If we had made it home that night, he'd have probably performed it for me in the living room after the concert.

_He'd finish playing the song and place the guitar back on its stand. "Did you like it, Gee?" he would have probably said._

_"I loved it so much. You're so talented, Frankie." I'd smile, wiping tears of joy from the corners of my eyes, before taking him in my arms._

_And we'd just sit there all night. He'd eventually curl up beside me and fall asleep, then I'd have to carry him to bed, bridal-style._

Instead, I was left choking back tears in an ambulance as he fought to fucking breathe.

_It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault._

I bury the song back into the box, making sure I can't see it, and pick up another photo.

This one's of us last winter, when we were out in the snow. Frank got on his tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek whilst I was posing for the camera, in front of some kind of snow-creature we'd built; Mikey managed to catch a photo in time.

We both look so fucking happy here. It almost hurts to look at.

It feels like I'm being mocked by my past self; like he's telling me I deserve to be sad.

I don't want us to suffer through this any longer. Nothing feels right.

_I need to fill the hole. I need to fill the hole. I need to fill the hole._

Pushing the box aside, I make a beeline down the stairs and to the kitchen, pulling out the now half-empty bottle of vodka from one of the cupboards.

-

My head spins once again. I haven't gotten drunk since the incident with Bert. It doesn't feel right, yet it doesn't feel wrong anymore.

The thought of Frank begging me to stop doesn't inhabit my thoughts tonight. I just drink. It pains me to do so, but I'm sure this won't happen again. I don't want it to. I just want to end this impending heartache for one night.

I pull all of Frank's songs out of the box and scatter them across the floor.  
I don't know why. It hurts even more than it did the first time I read them, but something tells me to do it.

I scan each line over and over again, trying to get them to settle into my mind. Nothing goes through. My tears fall upon the paper each time I try to re-read one. The ink blotches on every page, teardrops soaking right through.

Everything aches. I drop the stack of songs and curl into a ball on the floor, screaming until my heart feels like it's shattered inside my chest.

"Wake up, baby! I can't do this. I can't. I'm fucking exhausted."

He's never going to be the same. He won't be able to sing for me again, or curl up beside me, or kiss me on the cheek every morning when we wake up. I'll never be able to tell him I love him without breaking down.

We'll never get to start a family, like we said we would.

That was one of the only things Frank wanted to do after he'd settled down with me.  
He was so excited about it. He'd talk about it like it was his all-or-nothing.

_"Aren't you excited, Gee? I can't wait to adopt a kid, and maybe get a dog and- shit, why am I talking about this now?"_

_"No, it's okay, you can talk about it as much as you like. Of course I'm excited, baby. It'll be amazing. I just really love seeing you being enthusiastic about this. You'll be a great dad, my dear."_

I look down at my hands and see them bloody and stained, like the night I almost killed Frank.

But when I blink, the blood is gone.

These memories are damaging. I feel so weak. I'm lay on the floor, crying my heart out, and there's nothing I can do about it. 

All I can ever think about is whether he's going to wake up or not. Or how he's lying in the hospital right now, so fucking unaware; innocent to all that goes on around him, living in his own comatose-induced state of reality.

"Please, please, please be okay. I- I don't want anything happening to you again," I wail. It feels like I'm lying in a pool of my own tears, wishing I could drown. "Don't let it get to six months..."

All I can hear is the sound of my heart, pounding in my head, and the ringing in my ears.

"Where did you go, Frankie?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii ! this one's a bit short. god, there's not that long to go before the end...

Frank's POV

-

"Gerard. I'm so sorry about the way I acted the other week. I was horrible to you. We were both wrong, and- I just hope you can forgive me. I don't know what got into me; I just haven't been in the right place for a while. I'm sorry," I mutter into my mirror, my door locked so that my parents can't hear anything.

My nails dig into the palms of my hands as I ball my fingers into fists with anxiety. I'm going to go apologize to Gerard.

I slip on my denim jacket and creep downstairs, quietly opening and closing the front door and dashing to the end of the road as quickly as possible. Nobody can know I've left, as my parents have been led to believing that Gerard is a friend of the past, that I now hate him for who he is.  
With my hands in my pockets and my eyes bolted to the ground, I make my way over to his house, hoping I won't be told to leave on sight.

When I knock on the door, to my surprise, he answers. He's still in his pyjamas, despite it being midday, and his eyes are puffy and rimmed with pinks and reds, as though he's been crying. He just stares for a moment, without a word. 

I stand there, keeping my eyes to the floor.

"Hi?" he says, finally.

"Gerard, I-" The words I've been trying to say for so long have seemingly slipped away.

"Please, if you've come to apologize, don't even bother," he huffs.

"A- and why's that? Do I not get some kind of second chance?" I stamp my foot in protest.

"I don't think so, Frank. Do you remember how you acted that day? You were fucking awful to me for absolutely no reason!" he spits. "I don't even know what I did wrong. You ever consider how _I_ might have felt?"

"No, seriously, I can explain." I look down at Gerard's hands to see that he's twirling a match between his fingers. He's clearly just as nervous as I am in this situation.

"Oh, really? Want to give it a try, then?" he retaliates sarcastically.

"If you'd just let me, I could."

"Right, sure." He rolls his eyes at me and leans against the door frame.

"Stop it! I fucking miss you, alright?"

"And I miss you too." He shifts his eyes to the floor, trying not to make contact with mine. "But we can't go on like this. Hell, I can't even remember why you were even shouting at me, Frankie."

"I- It was my fault," I finally blurt out. "I don't really know why I did it... I haven't been in the right headspace for weeks. Maybe we were both in the wrong, I guess, but I shouldn't have acted that way towards you at all-"

"Shut up," He interrupts.

"Please, baby, what's the matter? Let me just explain myself already."

"I just don't know what's going on anymore."

"What do you mean?" I inch closer towards him.

"I mean- what's wrong with you? What do you mean, you've 'not been in the right headspace'? I don't get it."

"I don't know. I don't understand either. It's hard to explain."

"Come inside," he says, all too aggressively. He lets me through the door and leads me into the living room, where we sit on the leather couches opposite one-another in complete silence.

"I need you to explain to me what's happening," he utters sternly.

"With what?"

"Like- how the fuck did we end up fighting back a few weeks ago? Why did you snap at me like that?" He runs a hand through his hair. "I just want to know why you've been like this."

"And why did you drag me in here to ask me all this?"

"Because- because I love you. I just want to listen to you, okay?"

"Okay," I say. "I don't really know what's wrong with me. I've been hearing all these things around me, like something _outside_ of my own mind. I guess it's been happening since we first met."

"Oh, right..." He seems confused- scared, even. "Are you gonna get help? It sounds pretty bad, I- are you sure you're gonna be alright?"

"I'm gonna leave it. My parents will probably say it has something to do with the devil. I don't want that. I'm just scared," I admit. "I- I think it's what might have caused our argument. I must have gotten too caught up in it, or something. Nothing felt _right_."

"So this is something wrong with _you_? I thought you said I did something wrong?" His expression switches back to an angered glare.

"Well, no- I don't know, I just-"

"You know what, we should just fucking forget about this." He shrugs. "Maybe you're right. Maybe somehow, we were both wrong."

I'm slightly shocked at his response, seeing as though a few moments ago, he was reluctant to let me apologize at all. "Really, you're just gonna let it go? I thought you-"

"It was just a dumb little argument. I want to make sure you're alright. But please let me know when you're feeling this way."

"Oh- uh, right." 

I'm confused. Did he really just let what whole thing slide?

"I love you," he says, jumping onto my sofa and pulling me up to him.

"I love you too." I curl myself up against his side, wrapping my arms around him. I've missed this feeling so much while we've been apart. "Sorry I was so pissed at you, baby."

"It's okay. Let's not bring it up again."

He wraps me in his arms and strokes the back of my head comfortingly. I'm instantly filled with a rush of warmth; a buzz of happiness. "God, I really have missed you." He kisses my forehead.

"I've missed you too. It hurt so much, not being able to see you."

"I think I cried more than I should have, to be honest," he murmurs.

"I'm so sorry, Gee. I'm here now. You don't have to worry now, I promise."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter upload schedule is normal from here on out ! btw, expect to see a double upload within the next few weeks hehe. i'm so excited to show you guys what i've been writing <3
> 
> ps: i'm so sorry my writing seems to have gone downhill. i've been really insecure about it lately.

Gerard's POV

-

"He looks so tired." Mikey says.

"I know. It's so weird- he's been asleep for so long, but he to looks as if he hasn't slept at all in these five months."

We sit and watch Frank in silence. Mikey seems as though he's in shock.

"You okay, Mikes?" I place my hand on his arm, concerned.

"Yeah, I guess I'm just... confused." He mops his brow. "I don't know, man, this is a lot for me to take in."

"I get that."

"How's it been for you? Like, visiting every day and all?"

"It's been hard. It makes me feel like I have nothing left, you know? It's rough." I shrug.

"I'm so sorry, Gee. I haven't really been there for you, have I?"

"No, it's okay, man. I get it. It's not your fault."

"Pete and I have been really struggling with the comic book store lately, so that's all that's been on my mind. Thank you so much for not quitting your job there, by the way."

Mikey and his boyfriend, Pete, took over a comic book store in town last year. I've been working there for a while already, making a living for me and Frank before the accident.

"It's no problem. Why would I quit, anyway?"

"I don't know, I guess it's because of Frank and all," he sighs. "I was worried that after the accident you were gonna become all boring and sad. I thought that maybe you wouldn't wanna work in some lame comic store."

I giggle, "Fucking hell, Mikey, who do you take me for? A fucking idiot?"

"I don't know! I'm a dumbass!" he laughs.

The laughter fades to a silence. The stable beeping of the monitors beside Frank is just a small reminder that he's dying right before our eyes. It feels impossible to forget. I try to be happy for one moment and it comes back to me, hitting me straight in the chest and knocking me backwards.

I shuffle my chair forward and place my hand on Frank's.

"Hey, baby." I crack a small grin, "How've you been doing? I hope you're okay in there.

"Remember Mikey? Yeah, he's here too. Say hi, Mikey." I look over to him.

"Hi, Frank!"

I can see him smiling behind tears. It feels like all of our joy is false. We both clearly know he's never going to wake up the same person he was before the crash; it's just that neither of us are brave enough to admit it.

"Oh, I remembered something yesterday." I turn back to Frank. "Remember that time we kissed in the graveyard and those guys decided to shout at us... and then we kissed again to piss them off?" I chuckle, trying to maintain the artificial sense of positivity in the room. "I miss the graveyard. Maybe I should take you back when you wake up. That'd be nice, wouldn't it?"

Deep down, I know that's never going to happen. It just _can't._

Mikey chirps up. "Why can't we go today?"

"I don't know, I don't think I want to," I say, knowing that it's just going to remind me of Frank.

"Come on- it'll be okay! I promise." He nods enthusiastically. "Maybe it'll help you a bit."

"How?"

"I don't know, maybe it'll just... remind you of the _good_ memories of Frank."

"Yeah, it might."

"Should we go, then?" He stands up slightly, waiting for my response.

"Whatever. One minute." I stroke Frank's cheek. "We're gonna go now, baby. Sorry we didn't stay for too long. I'll be back tomorrow, okay? I love you." I kiss him on the forehead.

"See you soon, Frank. Wake up."

*

Walking through the cemetery, I admire the headstones, sunken into the ground and clad with clumps of moss. It's only a small place, surrounded by a large forest, so it's always empty here.

The emptiness was always something Frank and I loved about this place. Nobody ever really came and disturbed us.

Sometimes, random new headstones would appear mysteriously around the place, or a bunch of flowers upon a grave would seem to emerge from out of nowhere, and there always seemed to be dying, autumn leaves in the grass all year round, even on the warmest of summers. We had a running joke that it was haunted. It really was pretty fucking eerie. 

I point to a bench beneath a tree, towering over it. "This is where I met Frank. It was midnight or something, and I was sat up in that tree. I guess he just spotted me because of the matches I'd been lighting and dropping on the ground."

"Sick."

"I know, right. Pretty fucking goth if you ask me."

We sit down on the bench beside one another. "I actually kissed Frank here for the first time, too."

"Oh yeah, I remember you talking about that nonstop. How did it even happen?"

"I told him to bring a camera to one of our graveyard trips so that I could use the photos as references." I smile. "I asked him if we could take one more picture together, and I kissed him just as I took it. I guess I just needed an excuse to do it."

"Wow, romantic."

"I know- very smooth of me."

I can hear the birds behind us, who are perching on the branches of the overhanging tree. I always forget how beautifully tragic this place is. A gorgeous, half-abandoned wasteland.

"So, how are Frank's parents doing? I know they're awful and all, but... this must be a little hard on them, right?" Mikey's eyes meet with mine. He looks concerned, all of a sudden.

"Oh, uh- they haven't really spoken to me since the night of the accident."

"Fuck, really?"

"Yeah. They haven't visited Frank, either. I guess they just left it all to me."

I can slowly feel my emotions toppling around me, like support beams crashing down and crumbling at my feet.

"I'm so sorry," is the only thing he can say in response.

"But what if he doesn't wake up? What if they're just doing this to watch the money pile upon me?" I begin to shake timidly. "I have no control over what happens to Frank. I basically just pay for his medical bills and watch him sleep.

"And then if he doesn't wake up the same, how much is it gonna cost to take care of all of that?"

"I don't know, Gee." He shakes his head.

"I'm scared, Mikes."

"Me too."

"I keep asking myself- what if this is my fault?" I say, scared. "I mean, it could have been."

"Gerard, no."

"But it might be."

"No." He slaps the back of my hand sharply.

"I could have saved him," I protest, standing up.

"No you couldn't have. He nearly _died_ , remember? The crash wasn't your fault," he argues back. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have your lives, Gee. They almost _lost him._ "

My bottom lip quivers as though I'm a small child. A single tear forms in the corner of my eye. "I'm sorry." My knees fall weak.

Mikey quickly wraps me in his arms, comfortingly. "No, it's okay." He pats me on the back as the grief pours in sudden fits of uncontrollable sobs.

"I'm so fucking stupid," I wail.

"No you aren't."

"I can't go on like this. I fucking hate living this way, but I just can't let him go. I promised him..."

"You don't have any control over this. I told you, it isn't _your fault._ "

"He doesn't deserve this."

"Neither of you do."

I pull away from him, wiping my eyes. "I- I can't help but feel like I'm the worst person in the fucking world. It _aches_ me." My throat feels swollen as I stumble over my words.

"I know. I'm so sorry, Gerard, I really am."


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hihi !! good news- there's a double chapter upload next week. i'm so excited to show you guys what i've got written down ;). for now, here's this...

Frank's POV

-

"You're so cute, Gee," I say, blushing.

"No, you are!" He shuffles closer towards me on the graveyard bench.

"Aw, fuck. C'mere, baby." I wrap my arms around him as our lips quickly collide, the spring breeze hitting our faces.

"Faggots!" A voice shouts from the near-distance.

We pull away quickly, each spinning our heads to see where the noise came from.

"Come look at this, Rob!" It shouts again.

"Oh my god, what _are_ those?" another voice, presumably Rob, laughs.

I look over to Gerard, who, by the look on his face, seems to be becoming increasingly enraged as the two voices continue to talk about us.

I look over to the cemetery gates and see two teenage boys, howling with sarcastic laughter at the sight of us. Gerard gently places a hand on my forearm, possessively.

"Gee-"

"It's okay, Frank. I'm gonna go after them," he murmurs, half drowned out by the sound of the chanting and laughing of the two boys at the gates, still gawking at us.

"No you're not." I stop, pulling him back down onto the bench as he stands up.

"And why's that? We can't let them get away with this. You already have to go through this shit with your parents," he huffs, "And I don't want you getting hurt anymore. You don't deserve that."

"No, Gerard, please don't."

"I want you to be safe-"

"And I want you to be safe too, but this isn't the way to go about it," I cut him off. "Look, watch this."

I stand up from the bench and grab the boys' attention. "Hey! Look at this!" I yell.

I grab onto Gerard's coat collar and kiss him passionately, trying to put on a show for them as they watch in utter disgust. 

"Oh my god, that's fucking awful," I hear one of them pretend to retch.

"Fuck you! Look what you've done to us!" the other one clutches his stomach, exaggeratedly hunching over, before they both dash off in the opposite direction, bursting out with laughter as soon as they've run out of our view.

"Fuck you too!" I shout, letting go of Gerard, before turning back to him. "That's how you do it."

He looks shocked to say the least. "W-well, you scared them off, I guess." He blushes.

"See, you don't have to beat the shit out of them to scare them away, baby." I peck him on the cheek. "I promise you don't have to protect me all the time. I can fend for myself too, y'know."

He smiles and cups my face in his hands, squishing my cheeks like I'm a small toddler. "You're so cute."

"Get off me!" I giggle, scrunching my nose.

"Nope!" He smiles, kissing me again.

I pull his hands away from my face, remembering we're in the middle of a graveyard. "Oh, there are dead people under here."

"Shit, you're right." He bites his lip, embarrassed. "We should probably stop."

"Yeah," I agree. "Hey, you know what we've never really done before?"

"What?"

"I don't think we've ever looked around this place properly." I stand up, placing my hand out in front of me for Gerard to take hold of it. He slips his fingers in with mine, and we make our way around the small concrete path across the lonely cemetery.

There are two unmarked graves near the bench we sit on that stand out to me in a way. I've always wondered why they're unmarked. _What are these people's stories?_

There aren't any headstones past those two. Just land, waiting to be filled up with more people, tragically swept away by time.

"Look at that!" he says, pointing to a headstone behind me. I turn around to see several blood-red roses, scattered at the foot of the marble slab. "I didn't notice these   
when we first got here."

"Ghost flowers, maybe? How mysterious." I shrug sarcastically, giggling a little. "They're fucking gorgeous, though. Like, look at them- they're so... elegant."

"Yeah, they're really pretty."

"You should totally get me some one time," I joke. "Just make sure my parents don't see, or they'll kick me out for being too 'feminine' or some shit." That part isn't a joke.

"One day, Frankie."

We continue to walk around the graveyard, our hands interlocked. This seems to be the only place we can find constant peace. 

Eventually, we stop at the gates. "You wanna go somewhere else?" I ask Gerard.

"Yeah, sure." He nods as we make our way outside. The feeling of exiting the cemetery is surreal. It's like walking into another dimension, leaving behind the tranquillity of the dead and re-entering the normality of life once more.

"Where should we go?"

"The record store?"

-

I pull a tattered _Life on Mars_ single from one of the second-hand singles boxes. "You got this one?" I show Gerard.

"Are you saying that just because I'm a pretentious art kid that listens to David Bowie?"

"Maybe."

"Yes, of course I have that one."

I chuckle, continuing to flick through the hundreds of singles, placed neatly against one another in their box. "You know what?"

"What?" Gerard looks up again.

"Working here would be fucking sick. Like- imagine working in a record store. That'd be so cool," I exclaim. "I don't even know why. It'd just be... rad."

"You know what would be even better?"

"Hmm, go on."

"Playing a gig here. Y'know- with that band you wanna form at some point." He tilts his head slightly, signalling my eyes to the small wooden stage in the corner of the room.

The black-painted wooden crates, which have seemingly been drilled together to make a makeshift performance area, are worn and chipped. A single amp sits upon it, turned on its side.

"Yeah, I've been to a few shows here, actually." I say, recalling the several overaggressive punk bands I've seen here in the past, making a scene in front of an audience of primarily middle-aged ex-punks and music fans with no idea how to act. "It'd be pretty cool to play here, I guess."

"Well, if you guys ever need flyers and stuff, I'm your guy," he jests.

"I'm gonna need some actual members first, Gee."

"Well you'll just have to look for some then."

"Give it two years' time, and I'll be in a band- I swear on it."

"Ooh, you _swear_ on it, huh?" he mocks me, playfully.

"Aw, shut up!" I laugh, resuming to look through the singles boxes.

Most of these bands in here are long-forgotten. It makes me wonder who actually listened to all of this and _why_ they were dropped off here in the first place. The majority of them seem to have been collecting dust for a while now, sitting there, waiting to be claimed by some record collector, or a forty-year-old woman, reminiscing her teenage years with singles from 80s boy bands, lost in time.

"Should we leave, then?" Gerard asks.

"Oh- why?"

"We've been here for like half an hour already. Let's get going, okay?"

"Yeah, alright," I shrug.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so we're nearly at 1k?!?!? omg i love you guys <3 anyway, get ready to cry with these two chapters. this is a double upload, so keep in mind you'll have to scroll to the next chapter after.

Gerard's POV

-

From the corner of my eye, I can see Frank. Surrounded by paramedics, who are desperately trying to resuscitate him, he's sprawled out on a stretcher.

"Can you tell me how the accident happened?" A paramedic from beside me asks, urgingly. I can't focus on him. All I can do is stare at the wreck, burning in all its glory, the fire raging on despite the ongoing attempts to dim it out.

"Shit, we're losing him again..." a voice calls out from where Frank is lay.

"Frankie..."

"Sir, he's in good hands. I understand that you're worried right now, but trust me when I say that they're trying their best." He pats me on the shoulder. "Now can you tell me how the accident took place."

"D-drunk driver, I- I think."

"I see." He notes down what I've just said on a notepad, writing in what looks like chicken scratch.

"I could have saved him," I whisper to myself.

The paramedic picks up on what I've said, "That wouldn't have been possible." He shakes his head pitifully.

"But- I could have..."

"No."

"But-"

My whole body is stiff with shock. I can't bring myself to face the inevitable; the fact that the love of my life could simply die right now. What have I done to him? What damage have I caused?

The paramedic beside me taps me on the shoulder after receiving some kind of signal from his co-workers that Frank is stable enough to be brought into the ambulance. "Follow me, sir."

We walk over to the ambulance, where he's lifted in. As I sit down, all I can do is stare.

I can feel my stomach drop with terror as I watch him lying there, barely conscious, a struggled look plastered over his face.  
If it weren't for me, he'd be okay right now.

"Please... is he going to be alright?" I ask one of the other paramedics, clutching one of the rails on the side of the gurney.

"We're trying our best, sir." she replies firmly.

"B-but what's happening to him?" I watch him gasp for air behind an oxygen mask. His cheeks are streaked with tears; his hair is plastered to his forehead with blood and sweat.

"Please calm down. He's in good hands, alright?" she sighs. "By the looks of it, he's received some heavy trauma from the crash."

I hear the doors slam behind us, and we begin moving.

"Oh. Okay."

I gaze at Frank, whose eyes are fluttering open ever so slightly.

"Baby? A-are you awake?" I ask him, stroking his forehead with the back of my hand.

"It's unlikely that he'll reply at the moment. He's moving in and out of consciousness, as you can see." The paramedics are still tending to him.

"Can I hold his hand?"

"Go ahead. Be gentle with him. He might still respond to pain."

I slip my fingers softly between his. He squeezes back intensely, his fingernails scratching my knuckles.

He's in so much pain.

"I'm sorry," I snivel. "I'm so sorry."

My heart has been torn to shreds.

The muffled wails of the ambulance sirens are all I can hear, along with the unsteady beeps of a heart monitor, which rests on a rickety plastic shelf beside the gurney. It seems that the chatter surrounding me has been drowned out completely.

I stare at my hands, watching the blood dry and solidify upon them. A mark of guilt. A reminder that I can never forgive myself for what I've done to him.

I might never get him back.

And it's my fault.

I can hear him trying to breathe, still struggling for air despite now having assistance in doing so. He looks so weak; so vulnerable. He's like a porcelain doll. He could shatter into a million tiny pieces at any moment and that would be the end. No matter how hard one could try to fix him, he'd never be restored back to his original state.

"Stay alive for me, baby."

I don't feel real anymore. I can't comprehend anything. It's all just a blur of emotions.

I wish I'd have fucking died.

"He should be dead right now," someone looks up at me. "He's extremely lucky we could get his heart started again. We almost lost him." He pauses for a moment, taking a sharp breath in. "If you'd have left it just a few more minutes, he'd have been a goner."

I almost lost him. I almost lost him. He nearly died in my arms. I couldn't have saved him.

I bend down, level to his head. "You- you scared me, baby," I whisper shakily in his ear.

My world has been ripped apart. I could have proposed to him. We'd have been so fucking happy. Instead, I'm sat slumped over in an ambulance, watching my boyfriend hang on to his life by a mere thread.

The look on his face is heart-wrenching. Each time he opens his eyes, he looks around as if he doesn't know where he is. He tries to reach his hand out towards me, but he can't seem to move it. It just falls limply beside him.

I hear him let out an innocent little whimper of both frustration and pain.

"Shhhh." I stroke his hair. "I-it's okay, Frank. I'm right here, look." I try to reassure him that he's fine, even though I think we both know that he isn't. "See- you're safe now. You're gonna be okay."

Stay with me, baby. I don't know what I'm gonna do without you." His eyes open and close slowly in acknowledgement.

I picture Mikey, stood waiting for us at the arena, oblivious to what's going on. We could have been there too if I hadn't gotten us into a fucking car accident.

Frank groans again.

"I know it hurts," I say. "But this'll all be over soon, I promise." I don't really know when this is going to end for him. I don't know if he's going to live or die. Will he wake up a few hours later, barely keeping his eyes open but completely stable, or will he die a painful death, trying to grasp ahold of every breath he has left inside his frail little body?

"I love you, and I'm not going to let you die like this."

My heart aches. He's dying right before my eyes, and both of us are completely defenseless against whatever happens. "I want you to try your fucking hardest to hold on. Fight for me, baby. I know you can do it."

The ambulance suddenly comes to a screeching halt. The doors swing open, and he's immediately rushed out. Beside me is another paramedic, trying to lead me away from him.

"Please! Let me see him! He needs me!" I scream, as the paramedic tries to restrain me by grabbing my coat.

"Calm down, sir. I need to explain-"

"But- he's dying." I fall to my knees. He loosens his grip on me, and my face hits the concrete. Everything fades to black.

-

A scream escapes my mouth, waking me up instantly.

Another nightmare.

Within a matter of seconds, I begin to cry. I wail until my throat is raw, and what was left of my screams turn to small whines. "I- I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry. What have I done to you?"

I don't want to go on like this anymore. We're in pain. So much fucking pain.

Every night is the same now- I'm haunted by the images of him in the ambulance, afraid and confused, fighting to open his eyes. I beg him to stay awake every time, but he doesn't seem to understand. He looks at me the same as he looks at everyone else- bewildered, terrified, completely unaware of why this is happening to him. It's like he doesn't know me.

This is my fault.

I clamber out of bed and limp to the bathroom, pulling a small, torn string hanging from the ceiling to turn the light on. It flickers above my head, broken like the rest of the lights around the house.

I stare at myself in the mirror. I haven't showered in days. My lips are cracked and faded, almost the same color as the pale skin on my face; the life has been drained from my eyes, emphasized drastically by the bags that sit just below them; my hair is a thick, greasy mess. I can still see the scarce remains of teal hair dye, clinging to my roots, reminding me of the days when Frank and I were happy.

I just know he'd be disappointed to see me this way. He wouldn't want me to be this upset over him, but with only the slightest hint of assurance that he's alive, I can't help but feel like this. Frank is the one that keeps me going. The sun to my moon.  
I don't just want him back. I need him back.  
The machines he's attached to aren't enough to tell me that he's okay.

Because he's dying.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's worse im sorry

Frank's POV

-

"Please... is he going to be okay?" I can hear from amidst the pitch-black darkness of my mind.

I fight to force my eyes to stay open for more than just a second.

My face is sticky with blood. I'm sweating profoundly, and desperately clutching to an unknown force I'm yet to recognize.

I don't know who the person beside me is. His black hair drapes over his face, tears crawling down his pale cheeks. He looks almost shocked to see me wake up.

"W-what's happening to him?" he asks, sobbing.

"I can't breathe." I'm screaming from inside. "Help me, I can't fucking breathe."

I'm paralyzed from just below my neck, tethered to a gurney, my shirt ripped off completely to make room for the sensors strapped to my chest, which are keeping track of my faltering heart rate. I'm being monitored closely by the three paramedics sat around me.  
What the fuck happened to me?

The man beside me, however, is crying hysterically, stroking my hand, comforting me through my pain, which has locked completely into my body. Who is this guy? How does he know me?

His face is distorted. All I can hear is a voice, whose familiarity I'm trying to grasp onto. I know this voice.

"Who are you? Why do I recognize you?" My words are trapped in the prison of my mind.

"This hurts so bad. Fuck."

My eyes keep opening and closing beyond my control. I'm constantly in fear of the idea of when I'm going to pass out again, and if I'll ever wake up.

"Baby, are you awake?" He slides his fingers in with mine, to which I squeeze his hand back in pain as it rushes through my body rapidly.

All I can focus on is his voice. It's so familiar to me. I know it so well, but I can't seem to recognize who it is.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he says to me.

"Why are you sorry? Please, someone tell me what the fuck is going on."

Everything starts to become hazy again. The voices surrounding me are muted by the irregular drum of my heart, pounding in my ears, and I can feel myself being dragged back into the darkness once again, a dull pain taking over me.

I'm still gasping for air. My lungs feel completely deflated, like a popped balloon, damaged beyond use.

"Stay alive for me, baby."

Another person from beside me speaks up. They sound much less distraught in their tone. I don't know this voice. "He should be dead right now. He's extremely lucky we could get his heart started again. We almost lost him." He pauses for a second. "If you'd have left it just a few more minutes, he would have been a goner."

"You scared me, baby," the young man next to me whispers in my ear. My eyes open once more.

"Am I dying? What's happening to me?" I try to say. All that comes out is a small whimper. "I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die at all..." I tremble, in fear of the worst.

"Shhhh."

"You can't really hear me, can you?"

"I-it's okay now, Frank. I'm right here, look." He places a hand on my cheek. "See- you're safe now, it's alright."

"No, it isn't alright. I'm dying. I'm dying and I don't know how to save myself. Do you know how to fucking save me?" I tighten my grip on his other hand, which I'm clinging onto like I'm clinging onto my life. I'm trying to somehow give him a sign of the pain I'm in.

It feels as though I'm struggling to hold on- like I'm cradled in the arms of death. I don't feel safe.

"Please... it aches."

My eyes slip open again.

"Stay with me, baby. I don't know what I'm gonna do without you," he cries, pleading.

I groan in pain again.

"I know it hurts," he tells me, stroking my hair. "But this'll all be over soon, I promise."

"But please- who are you?"

I want to remember. I need to know who he is.

"I love you, and I'm not gonna let you die like this."

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

"Gerard... oh, baby..." It finally hits me. It's him.

I suddenly try harder to keep my eyes open. Now I have a reason to do so.  
"Gee, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm sorry I had to do this. Fuck, what happened? What happened to me, Gerard? Why does it hurt so much? Why can't I breathe?" I want to cry, but no tears will come out. All but one, which rolls from the corner of my eye.

I'm pulled into a sea of unconsciousness yet again.

"I'm trying to stay awake, I swear. I'm not lying. Was it me? Was this my fault? I'm so fucking sorry," I scream within my mind, sobbing my heart out. "It's okay, I'm gonna wake up for you, I promise. I'll be alright soon."

He can't hear my words of comfort. He just cries non-stop.

"What did I do to us? I need to know, baby. What was it that made me this way? Do you hate me now? I'm so scared."

The ambulance comes to a sudden stop. I can already hear the doors swinging open. I'm lowered out immediately, being pulled away from Gerard, who's begging to be with me. I can't move. I can't do anything.

I open my eyes again and watch him crying as I'm rushed into the hospital. He's being held back by another paramedic, grabbing onto his coat. He sobs, pleading to see me one more time.

"I-it's okay. I'll be back- I swear. You'll see me in a few hours. Don't worry about me."

I'm suddenly thrown back into the abyss of sleep again. The surrounding sounds are completely muted by the spinning of my head. This time, however, no matter how hard I try, I can't open my eyes again. It's like I've been nailed shut inside a coffin, and I'm banging on the door to get out.

"Wh- why can't I wake up anymore? Gee? Where are you? I want to see you!"

-

My eyes snap open. I can feel the tears forming already.

It was all just a nightmare. A horrible nightmare.

I find myself curled beside Gerard, resting in the crook of his arm.

"No, no, no, no, no," I cry, my breathing shaky. I sit up and rock myself back and forth, my head racing with thoughts as the tears roll down my face. "I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die." I bury my face in my hands, muffling my fear for nobody to see.

"W-what?" Gerard rolls over, rubbing his eyes. "What's going on, Frankie?"

"I- you- you watched me dying."

"What are you talking about, Frankie?"

"I'm so sorry." I begin to cry into his chest, clutching his t-shirt.

He takes my small frame in his arms, comforting me as I softly whimper. "What's the matter?"

"I had another nightmare..."

"Another one?" He looks concerned. "You wanna talk about it?"

"I- I don't know."

"It's okay if you don't. I don't mind."

"N-no, uh, yeah, I think I will."

"Go ahead." He strokes my back.

"So- we were in the back of an ambulance, and- and I was dying. I couldn't seem to recognize you. Your face was all distorted, and all I could hear was your voice." I shiver. "You were telling me to wake up. To stay alive. You were so fucking distraught. I only realized it was you when you told me- when you told me-"

"Come on, it's okay."

"When you said-" I can't seem to choke up the words, despite them usually being so easy to say.

"Go on, you can say it."

"When you told me you loved me. And it instantly hit me. I tried to wake up for you. I tried so hard," I hyperventilate.

"Breathe. You're okay. You're safe now. It was all just a bad dream." He runs his fingers through my hair.

"It felt so real. I was in so much pain. The worst I'd ever felt."

"Does it still hurt now?"

"No, I'm okay now. B-but while I was dreaming, it was so... intense. I was screaming inside my head, telling you how much it hurt, but you couldn't hear me. You just tried to tell me it was alright."

"I'm so sorry."

"A- and then, just before I actually woke up, the ambulance stopped, and you were being pulled away from me. I told you- I told you I'd wake up," I wail, "But then it all ended."

"Fuck. I know how awful nightmares can be. I know they can feel so fucking real sometimes." He rocks me gently from side to side in his arms. "You just gotta realise that once they're all over, that's it. Nothing's gonna hurt you, I swear."

"It just felt so real. I actually died, a-at one point, I think."

"You died?"

"I heard a voice telling you that- that they almost lost me," I snivel. "I'm scared, Gee. I'm fucking scared."

"I'm so sorry, Frankie..." He grips me tighter. I can hear how shaky his voice has become all of a sudden. "I never want to lose you like that."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this one was really upsetting (and quite strange) for me to write. i'm so sorry in advance. i've tried to tame it down as much as i can.  
> btw sorry if this isn't my best chapter, i struggled with this- probably because of the topics mentioned n stuff.

Gerard's POV

-

Stepping out of the taxi, I make my way down into hospital entrance and through the eerily empty corridors of the ICU.

Frank, once again, lies motionless on the bed. Asleep. I greet him with an empty smile and take a seat on one of the plastic chairs beside the bed.

"Uh. There's a bit of a problem, at the minute, baby," I say rhetorically, my hands shaking in fear. "They- they're gonna shut off the electricity soon if I don't pay the bills," I huff, pinching the bridge of my nose in resentment. 

I haven't eaten properly in days. Everything's falling apart.

"Please wake up."

Quickly, I try to lift the mood a little. "Hey, I was trying to remember some stories about us to tell you. I remembered that one time we went camping in the woods a few months ago. We brought a picnic and a little tent. It was so dark that night. I held onto you the whole time, in fear that a bear would come and eat you." I crack a small smile. It fades almost instantly when I look up at him.

My stomach drops every time my eyes shift towards him. I can't stop thinking about how fucking damaged we're going to be when he wakes up. I don't want him to be in pain. This is my fault. 

I can picture everything playing out around me, like the image is burnt into my eyes for me and only me to stare at, probed and tortured by my own mind.

_I clutch onto Frank's hand as Ray begins removing some of the IVs from his arms._

_"Come on, Frankie. I'm here now. Open your eyes for me." I say, tears of joy beginning to flow._

_He looks so desperate to open them._

_My heart pounds in my chest like a drum. Frank's waking up. He's finally fucking waking up._

_"He'll do it eventually, don't worry." Ray smiles._

_Suddenly, his eyes slip completely open. He looks so weak._

_"Frankie, baby! O- oh my fucking god, you're finally a-awake..." My voice is shaky. "You did it!"_

_"Okay, he might not respond at the moment, so let him take his time, alright?"_

_"Yeah, okay."_

_I caress his cheek, staring into his hazel eyes, "Hey, Frankie. How're you doing? Does it feel weird having your eyes open now?" I realize how vacant they are; stained with the trauma of the months of deep slumber. There's no spark like there was before._

_I watch his head roll to one side after Ray removes the breathing tube from his throat. His eyelids look heavy. He blinks slowly, one eye slightly out of time with the other. His mouth is still parted slightly open from where the tube rested between his lips._

_"Hey, hey, hey, baby, look- you can breathe now, right? You're doing it on your own. How does that feel?"_

_His cheek smushes against the pillow, but not in the cute kind of way, like when he'd curl up to me in bed.  
It's just rather fucking sad._

_"Frankie, it's me- Gerard. See? Hey, can you breathe okay? I- I wanna make sure you're comfortable." I try and talk to him softly, easing him into this 'new' environment. He doesn't seem to acknowledge me._

_He just looks lost; so hurt. It's like he isn't supposed to be here._

_"I'm so proud of you..."_

_I see no sign of Frank in there. Nothing at all..._

_-_

_"Frankie? Frank, baby, talk to me." I say, running my thumb along his hand, which is still attached to an IV. "C'mon."_

_"Gerard, I'm so sorry." Ray sits on the chair beside me. "Like I've said plenty of times before- I don't think he'll be able to talk to you at the minute. He's not going to recover like that. I- I don't mean he'll be like this forever-" He gestures towards Frank. He's sitting limp in a shitty hospital-donated wheelchair, staring at the blank all of his room._

_"-But he's never gonna be the same as he used to be."_

_"Baby..." I whimper, falling to meet Frank's head-height. "Please..."_

_He blinks at me, confused. It's not pleasant at all, There's no expression in his face. There's nothing there. All there is in front of me is the shell of a man, who was supposed to have been dead long ago._

_Because the old Frank died six months ago in a fucking car accident._

_"All we can say for sure is that he'll never walk again. He's likely not going to be able to perform basic tasks without a lot of rehabilitation. We just need him to get back into things properly," Ray sighs. "Look, man- we're gonna try our best to push you two through this. I'm so sorry."_

_"Oh- yeah. We- we'll be alright soon." I turn to Frank, "Look... you're okay now, see? You woke up. We're gonna be alright now, aren't we?" I try to put on a false smile while I talk to him. The tone in my voice seems to go higher when I speak, as though I'm talking to a lost toddler._

_In my head, I'm desperately trying to maintain a sense of normality, as if we're living life as it was before the accident. "And when we get you out of here... we're gonna go to the graveyard, like we used to. Remember that? It's where we first met." I stroke his flushed cheek with my thumb. "And then we can go see Mikey. D-do you rememer Mikey? He's missed you almost as much as I did." I feel hopeless. I can't talk to him the same way. Does he even remember me?_

_He lets out a faint groan._

_Quickly, I dig my hands into my pockets and pull out the engagement ring box out, opening it up. Tears swim down my cheeks at the mere sight of it. "This is what I was supposed to give you all those months ago. I- I was gonna ask you to marry me, baby. R-remember, we were going to that concert? I was gonna do it there." I wipe the tears from my face with my sleeve._

_"We never made it there, though. We- we were driving, and I- I got us into a car accident. A really bad one." I feel as though I'm sinking as I try my hardest to explain what happened to him, with no reassurance that any of the information is going through. "You were in a coma for six months. You- you couldn't even breathe on your own until you woke up- but you're here now. And that's all that matters to me."_

_I take the engagement ring and place it on his finger, kissing cheek gently. "I love you so, so much. I- I'm so proud of you. You have no idea._

_"I spent so many nights dreaming about how you were going to react. I hope that somewhere i-inside of you, there's a little part of the old Frankie left over. I hope he says yes." I plant a small kiss on his forehead, watching him stare into nothingness, glassy-eyed and still. "Oh, I'd give you the world if I could, baby."_

_His head rocks loosely to one side. He looks so sunken, just sitting there, totally unaware of his surroundings._

_I can see Ray subtly wiping an oncoming tear from his eye as he watches me and my hopeless efforts to get a response out of Frank, despite him being completely vegetative._

_I fall to the ground, curled up in a ball, sobbing. My head presses against the tiles of the hospital room floor. All I hear are alarms._

_I've lost Frankie. I don't know who this is anymore._

-

"Gerard?"

"Gerard?"

"Mr Way?"

Ray stands on the other side of Frank's bed, a concerned look plastered on his face. "Gerard, are you okay?"

"Fuck- uh, yeah, I'm fine." I shuffle up, realizing I've slipped down in my chair whilst I was in my nightmare-like trance. My shirt is stained with tears.

"I don't think you are," he sighs, quirking a brow. "What's up?"

"I'm so lost in my thoughts today. I- I'm so worried for him." I place my hand on Frank. "He's not gonna be the same, is he?"

"We can't exactly tell you at this stage, to be honest. I'm so sorry, man. I know this is hard for you."

"I- I just had this daydream that- he woke up, a-and he was completely- he just- he just kinda stared at the wall the whole time. He didn't respond to anything."

"I'm sorry."

"C-can you try talking to him?" I ask, reluctantly.

"What?" He seems confused.

"Say something to him, please."

"Uh, okay..." He bends down a little. "Hey, Frank... uh, hold on for us, buddy. Gerard misses you. I- I think everyone else misses you too. We need you back," he says, awkwardly. His face has turned red.

"Thanks, man. I- I know I probably shouldn't have told you to do that, but... it means a lot to me." I smile a little, before turning to Frank again. "Come on, baby. I need you."


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! i really hope this chapter clears some of your questions up. it would be great if i could have some feedback on this one, as i need to know whether this explained stuff or not.  
> this one was very hard to write, to be honest. i think my brain is fried now ahahaha. i'm sorry if this is bad. i just hope it explains everything.

Frank's POV

-

I've been questioning my dreams a lot lately. I've started piecing them together, realizing that they all play out like a weird movie when they're put together like a jigsaw.

Once I play them over again in my mind, they finally make somewhat of a story, strung together neatly, with a few small plot-holes, of course.

It begins with the daydream. The one that begun it all. It's like the opening scene; where I'm stood at my own grave. There's this 'mysterious' boy with black, draping hair and teal roots, sobbing- begging for me to come back. It's Gerard. _But I didn't know that then._

It confuses me how he was there, and why he caught my attention the most out of the crowds of people at my imaginary funeral. Wouldn't I have spotted one of my friends first? Or one of my relatives?

The way my eyes travelled straight to him makes it seem like he was some kind of part of my subconscious. Like he's been lingering there since before these dreams started happening.

_But how did I even know he existed back then?_

Did he just- appear there? Did I meet him somewhere before that made me feel this strangely personal connection with him, despite it all being inside my head?

_Subconscious._

_Subconscious._

_Subconscious._

The word bounces off the walls in my mind, ringing around my head.

It's like I know him from somewhere else. Somewhere far away from this place.

Then in comes the next dream- the accident. Gerard holds me in his arms and tells me it's going to be okay as I feel myself slipping away from life's grasp. 

Between these dreams are the voices. The ones telling me to wake up; so familiar to me that I can hear them in front of me, as though someone is talking to me from _outside._ Like the time Gerard was saying all those things, trying to get me to 'wake up' from something. Did the voice take over him? Am I the victim of some fucked-up, malfunctioning simulation?

_I don't even know what I need to wake up from._

Then the third dream plays out- the ambulance. He's crying by my side as I'm close to death, hanging onto whatever life I have left in me. I couldn't recognize him until he told me he loved me. It felt so real. Like it had happened before- simply a horrible flashback to an event buried deep within my memory.

The only thing that has been on my mind recently is where this teal roots boy actually came from. I know it's Gerard. But why was he already at the graveyard in my imagination before I met him there for the first time?

Suddenly, something clicks in my head; something telling me that meeting him has been like déjà vu. Like I've met him twice.

But I can't have met him _twice_ without realizing it. I've only known him for almost six months. This can't be right.

It feels like I could pinch myself and wake up from some sort of dream. 

But I can't, of course. Because this is reality, right?

"Fuck," I say, my head falling into my hands.

"What's the matter?" Gerard walks out from the bathroom and perches himself on his bed, wrapping his arm around me.

"These dreams- they're scaring me again. Like- I'm thinking about them deeper than I usually would, and- and they're terrifying..."

"Frankie, I can assure you they're nothing to worry about."

"How were you already a part of my imagination before I even _met you?_ It just doesn't seem right. How was I aware of your existence before I'd even seen your face?"

"I mean, we live in a kinda small town. You've probably just seen me around, right? Maybe I... manifested," he jokes.

"I don't know. I know I've talked about this before, but- but I think it's more serious this time. I don't know what to do anymore." This isn't a joking matter. I'm fucking scared. Gerard doesn't seem to get it.

Abruptly, I'm hit with a memory I didn't even know I had- the familiar voice in my head bringing me a small reminder of the event. _"I was trying to remember some stories about us to tell you. I remembered that one time we went camping in the woods a few months ago..."_ it says to me, before explaining what happened.

Trying to lighten the mood, I change the subject and bring up the memory I've just received. "Hey, Gee, do you remember that time we had that picnic in the woods near the graveyard?"

I can remember it so clearly now.

_We're sat in the forest which surrounds the cemetery. Its grand, evergreen trees loom over us as we sit on the small picnic mat, a basket of food between us._

_"This is so relaxing. I've never been here before. Have you, baby?" I ask Gerard._

_"I went here a few times before we met, but I've never really hung out here like this. It's nice."_

I remember we spent the night there, too. We brought a tent with us. It was so fucking dark that night. He spent the whole time shaking with his arms wrapped around me, in fear that a bear would run into our tent and try to tear me to shreds.

"No... I don't remember that, Frankie," Gerard replies. He looks genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?" He rests one hand on my cheek and caresses it with his thumb.

"Do you not remember? We camped there overnight... and you got scared?"

"Not at all."

"You gotta be kidding me! We had so much fun that night."

"Baby, are you okay? Is this something about your dreams? Or something that weird voice told you?"

"Yeah, the voice told me- but- but it actually happened!" I grow frustrated. He has to be joking. "I'm convinced."

"I've only been in those woods like... twice before we met. I would have remembered if we went there together. How could I forget something like that if you were there too?"

"What the fuck, stop messing with me. It really happened, I swear!"

It's like this is all part of my imagination, diluted with a twinge of reality. I don't fucking like it.

"I'm sorry. I really don't remember." He looks saddened by my exasperation, as I'm defeated by his denial. "I promise I'd have known if it really happened."

"Oh. Okay." I rest my head on his shoulder and give up trying to convince him.  
My eyes are welled with glassy tears, threatening to spill over. I'm so fucking confused. This can't just be some sort of false memory, can it?

_"You need to wake up,"_ the voice whispers in my ear suddenly.

"No, this can't be fucking happening. Not again. This _reality._ I don't know how to wake up." I scream back at it, clenching my fists.

Gerard looks shaken up slightly. "Frank- calm down, oh my god. What are you talking about?"

"This fucking voice. I hate it. I don't know what it's talking about. I'm terrified."

"Hey, don't be scared. It's okay." He twirls my hair with his fingers. "I know it can be intimidating, but you just gotta block it out at the moment. And if it doesn't go away, we'll get you help, alright? It's not gonna hurt you."

"Y-yeah, okay..." _I can't block it out._

I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do. What, with my extremely catholic parents, who are probably going to be convinced I'm possessed by the fucking devil? They'll kill me. 

_"Hold on for us, buddy."_ an unfamiliar voice says, shakily. This time, however, it comes from the other side of me.

"Hold on to what?" I mutter.

"What's this voice saying now?"

"This one's different. I don't know who this voice is. But it's telling me to hold on."

"That's scary as shit," Gerard shrugs.

Part of me doesn't blame him for not being able to completely understand what's going on. Even _I'm_ fucking confused.

"Help me, Gerard." I cower.

"I love you, baby. I'm so sorry you feel this way." He pulls me into a warm embrace, letting his head rest upon mine. "Nothing's gonna hurt you whilst you're with me. I'm here to protect you, okay? I always will be."

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, regular readers (as of 6/07/2020 lol), if there are some bits you're confused about (eg. the camping trip mention), i annotated the previous chapter to align with this one, so that's why it's been mentioned now (if that makes any sense??).


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is absolutely brutal.  
> this is the final chapter before the last three are uploaded next monday. i hope u enjoy, babes <33
> 
> (notes at the end contain info about medical accuracy and stuff !!!)

Gerard's POV

-

Trying to find a small amount of joy, I bring my sketchpad and pencils with me to visit Frank. I haven't sketched since the accident. Every time the nib of my pencil makes contact with the page, I'm flooded with memories of him clinging onto his life in my arms. Today, however, I'm desperately trying to get over my fear. Trying to _keep things normal._

I begin to sketch an outline of Frank, lay asleep on the bed. He looks to be getting weaker by the day, like a small animal, fighting to survive on its own in the wild.

The lines come together neatly on the page. Despite being comatose, he's still so picturesque. I've always told him that there's not a day that goes by where he doesn't look perfect. I'm still of the belief that I'm right, although he used to deny it all the time.

There's something so elegantly macabre in the almost lifeless state he's been in for six months.

I just wish we could still be happy.

I put my pencil down for a minute and plant a small kiss on the tip of Frank's nose, careful to avoid the spot where his feeding tube is plastered upon it. "I love you."

I miss him. I miss everything about him. I'll never forget the day I watched his doe-eyed innocence slip away as he fell unconscious in my arms, brushing tender exchanges with death. His screams still ring in my ears. The terror that filled his voice. _The sudden silence._

I haven't slept in days. My head has been swimming with thoughts, questions about how Frank and I are going to get by with what little we have left. His parents haven't bothered to call at all. I'm drastically losing money to the weight of his medical bills.

I'm so fucking tired. Tired of my emotions crumbling every time he's mentioned. Tired of crying after each and every shift at work, knowing nothing will ever make me happy until Frank wakes up. Tired of watching the love of my life, deep in slumber, every single day. I'm _tired._

I flip the cover of the sketchpad shut and admire him for a moment, scanning his graceful features. "Stop being so fucking pretty all the time." I smile. My mood seems to have changed for the better today.

I hear the door swing open from behind me, creaking. I turn to see Ray, accompanied by a short, black-haired nurse beside him, who immediately starts tending to Frank.

"Hey, Gerard."

"Hey, man," I wave a little. "How's he doing?" I point subtly at Frank.

"He's doing alright. At this point, it's just a matter of whether his body can wake up." He nods. "I think he knows what's best for himself."

The nurse paces around in the corner of my eye, adjusting IVs, refilling medications. She smiles politely at me as she caters to his needs.

"Thank you, Ray."

"For what?" he asks, looking down at the papers that reside in his hand.

"Just... taking care of him. Literally everyone involved is doing such a good job. He'd be happy." I beam.

"You're welcome. I just want to help you guys through this. I know I've said this before, but you two don't deserve this shit," he says. "I obviously don't really know either of you all too well- especially Frank- but you two seem like you were really happy together. I hope he wakes up soon."

"I hope he does too. His parents haven't called by, have they?"

"Not even phoned us. We've tried contacting them, but they've barely been in touch. There's no indication of them wanting to withdraw his life support, however."

"Oh, good..."

"Yeah." He shrugs. "Although sometimes, it's the best choice."

I nod in acknowledgement. "I have hope for Frankie. I just don't think it would necessarily be rational for him. He's gonna pull through." This all feels like a lie. There's never any life beside me when I visit him. Talking to him hurts me to a point where I want to curl up and cry.  
Even the mere sight of him breaks my heart.

"I'm proud of you for waiting it out like this. I know his parents are the ones that have control over him, but... you're hanging onto him. I know this is really tough for you."

"It's been awful, honestly."

"Well, we'll hopefully see what happens soon. Just hold out for him."

"I'll try."

Ray smiles, before walking out the door, his female counterpart following closely behind.

I yawn as he leaves and slump my head on Frank's bed. "I'm so tired," I say, before pausing briefly. "Could I, maybe, lie with you?"

Without hesitating, I slip my shoes off and quietly tiptoe around to the other side of his sleeping figure. I place my hands on the mattress and hoist myself up onto the bed.

He's completely motionless beside me. His body lies cold and pale. He's so unresponsive. So _comatose._

"I need you," I sigh amidst the near-silence of the room. All that can be heard are the hums and false breaths of the hollow machines, and the stable beep of a heart monitor. 

I wish he could hold me; awake from his sleep and roll over to kiss me on the cheek like he'd do every morning when we'd wake up beside one-another. When life was normal.

"You look so beautiful." I rest my head upon the top of his, letting him lie against my chest, and place my arm on his abdomen, trying to come as close as I can to hugging him without shifting anything out of place. "I used to tell you that all the time when you were awake. I wish you'd believed me back then. God, I'm so in love with you."

I run my fingers through his hair, which has grown out to just above his shoulders into a natural shade of brown. It smells of hotel shampoo, and the sharp, sterile scent of the hospital. "My poor little baby..." my voice shakes. "I wish I could wake you up."

I gush about how life would be if Frank woke up, talking about the future as if I'm talking about winning a jackpot on the lottery. "If you woke up, I swear I'd look after you as much as you need. I'd cook for you daily. I'd help you get around. I would show you all the things we would do together when you were _okay,_ " I whisper in his ear. "I'd never let anything hurt you."

_Not like I did._

"I'd still keep working all my jobs for you. I'd do everything to keep you happy. And when you're sad, I would lie with you and hold you in my arms until you're alright.

"I'd give you the world. You're safe with me, my angel."

I press my lips gently to his forehead, softly caressing his cheek with my thumb. I try to stay careful with every move I make, scared of shifting any tubes or knocking any wires out of place and ruining my chances of him waking up.

"I don't want you to die. You're so young. You're so full of life. So much energy. I vowed to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe from your parents, in fear of the worst. Why did this happen to us? I wish I could've fucking saved you."

I shuffle upwards a little and slide my hands under his upper body. I pull him a little closer to me and hold his small, sleeping frame in my arms. He's so delicate.

Tears rush to my eyes as I feel his touch again; as I realize that this is the closest I've ever been to him within just under six months. _Almost half a year without Frankie._

I want to hear his voice again. His cute little giggle. I want to hold him every night. To feel the gentleness of his kisses, and the way he'd wrap his arms around my waist when he'd hug me because he was too small to properly reach my shoulders without standing on his tiptoes.

I sob against him, an overwhelming sadness within me. "You've been fighting so fucking hard. You- you're so strong, baby. I love you. So fucking much. Words can't describe how I feel.

"When you're better, we're gonna start a family, o-okay? We'll have enough money. We can adopt a kid. I know you've always wanted that. You'll make a perfect father. Our future child will love you to bits." My heart is heavy with false hope. I'm so scared for his life; caught up with the fear that he's never going to be the person either of us remember. "Do you like the sound of that?"

I rock him slowly back and forth to the time of the heart monitor. "I wish I could tell you that everything's going to be okay."

I begin singing to him, fighting through my tears. It's as if I'm simply rocking him to sleep- a gentle lullaby. 

It’s a song that my parents would sing to me as a young child. I remember one time, Frank got sick. He couldn’t sleep, so he asked me to sing to him. And that’s what I sung.

From then on, he’d always ask for it when he couldn’t get to sleep. He used to love my singing. I wish he could have heard it more when he was awake.

He looks so ill. So weak.

"I love you."

I imagine him saying it back to me, kissing me softly, or nuzzling into the crook of my neck.

"I don't want you to ever forget that, no matter what happens." I gaze at him. "And I- I know you might not be able to hear me right now, but just know that I still fall in love with you more and more every day. I've been doing that for the past two years."

I place his limp body back on the bed and turn his head a little so that we can still face each other. I slip my hand in his, letting our fingers intertwine, and rest my head beside him, crying onto his pillow.

"I'm struggling right now, baby. I- I don't know what to do anymore. I'm so tired." I wail. "But I'll wait for you to wake up as if I'm waiting for a storm to stop. Just stay with me...

"I don't want to keep living this way. I hope you can hear me. I'm struggling to pay our bills. I can't _eat_ without feeling guilty."

I rest my hand on his jaw. "I know you'd never want me to feel like this. You- you'd be so upset if you could see the state I'm in right now. I know it. But please, I know it might be hard, but _wake up._ My heart breaks for you each and every day.

"Fuck, baby. I'm running out of money. Your parents won't do shit. They have control over everything. Whether you live or you fucking die." 

I can feel my eyelids growing heavy as I talk. I blink slowly, my eyes remaining on him.

Suddenly, I hear a noise. A muffled whimper, only lasting a few seconds, but still distinguishable. I stroke Frank's cheek and stare at him, my breathing growing heavy with nerves.

_Frankie's crying._

Tears roll down his face slowly as I pant, shaking with anxiety. "Oh my god. Oh my god." My eyes are wide. "Baby- Frankie- oh my fucking god." I sit my hand on his shoulder and shake him gently, watching him. "Are- are you waking up? Fuck, do I need to get a doctor? Baby... open your eyes."

But despite his tears, he still remains unmoving. His eyes hardly flutter. He doesn't know what's going on.

My breaths start to slow down again. I can feel my heart rate catch back up to its normal pace. "Hey, hey, hey, Frank?" I tap him, trying to get him to move. "Hey, don't cry. It's all gonna be okay now. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you while I'm by your side." I stroke his hair again.

The tears are like delicate little pearls, rolling down his face as he fights between life and death. It's like how he looked in the ambulance.  
I can see the pained expression on his face. It's almost as if I can feel his pain. "It's okay, baby. Don't cry," I say softly. "Wake up... you're my only fucking hope." I try to beckon him back into reality.

He stops crying. His tears slowly begin to dry against his face, reverting him back to how he once looked before. Still unbreathing. Completely motionless. _Almost dead._

"No, no, no, no, no. My baby- oh my god. Don't do this to me. Not again." I bury my head into his near-lifeless body once more and sob harder than ever, howling in pain until my throat feels hoarse. My head throbs. My tears soak through Frank's thin hospital gown and stain the sheets that sit upon him. "Oh, darling... I'm so sorry. I can't believe I thought you were going to wake up..."

I press his head to my chest, letting it fall sideways so that I don't somehow pull any of his tubes out, and comb my fingers through his long hair as I cry. "I- It's okay if you need more time. I'll wait for you."

_He isn't waking up._

_Frankie's not waking up._

_This is my fucking fault._

"I know you can do it, baby.

"Please. My heart hurts.

"I'm sorry." I mutter. My ears follow the sounds of the ventilator and its heavy mechanical breathing. I pick up its pace and breathe along with it, slowly finding myself surrendering to my dire need for sleep. Everything around me fades to black as I hold Frank close to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so as far as i'm aware, some coma patients are able to cry (source -https://www.nytimes.com/1982/06/27/magazine/coming-out-of-coma.html)
> 
> i'm not too sure if visitors are actually allowed to lie beside patients, especially under these circumstances, but i've gotta do it for the drama, man.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here they are... the final three chapters.
> 
> i'm gonna leave yall til the end for now, but i really hope you enjoy this ! <3

Frank's POV

-

From out of nowhere, a wave of pain rips through my body. It grasps at my heart and tries to drag it out from the inside. My skin burns to the touch. It's like my soul is being torn away from my body.  
"Oh my god. Oh my fucking god," I scream, tears prickling my eyes. I collapse onto Gerard's bedroom floor with a crash, curling into the fetal position and clutching my pounding chest, reminding myself that I'm still alive.

"Frank?! Oh my god, are you okay?" I hear Gerard rushing down the stairs.

He stops when he sees me on the floor, immediately crouching down and trying to pick me up in his arms. I squeal in pain. "Help me. Fucking help me."

"What's happening? What the fuck is going on?"

"I- my body just- fuck, I'm in so much pain. I don't know what's happening to me. Help." I feel as though I'm about to pass out. I'm weak.

"What kind of pain?" I can see the anxiety hidden in his eyes; the genuine fear he tries to mask in his voice.

"I feel like something is being pulled away from me- like my insides are being dragged from my body." I pant as another burst of pain ripples through me. "Everything fucking hurts." I sob, trying to grab onto Gerard as he finally manages to hoist me up into his arms.

"Oh, Frankie..." He cradles me, soothingly rocking me back and forth. "I've got you, baby. I've got you."

"I'm so scared." I cry, resting my head against his chest. My tears dribble onto his shirt.

"It's alright. You're gonna be okay," he tries to comfort me, clearly not knowing what to do.

"Help me."

"Breathe, baby; it's okay," he says encouragingly.

"I- I can't..." I hyperventilate. "It hurts."

"You can. Just try to relax." His words soothe me. "In and out."

I breathe slowly and shakily, trying to fight through the pained state my body remains in. _What's happening to me?_

"See! You're doing it." He smiles weakly. "You're doing so well, baby. Carry on for me."

"O-okay." I shiver. "I'm sorry."

"Frankie," he gasps, concerned. "Why would you need to be sorry?"

"I don't know, I- I thought that maybe you'd be mad because-"

"I have no reason to be mad. Not at all. You got that?"

I nod, wiping the tears from my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. "It really hurts, Gee."

Another bout of pain drags through my body, making me jolt forwards, blurring my vision.

"Frank!" He grabs me. "Maybe we should sit on the bed. I don't want you hurting yourself."

"Y-yeah, that would help, I think."

He scoops me up in his arms and places me on the bed, where he remains holding me in his arms, still rocking back and forth. "Maybe I should drive you to the hospital. You seem really sick."

"I- I'm fine," I lie.

"I don't think you are."

"I _am,_ " I retaliate sharply. "I- I don't want help."

"I can't bare the thought of something bad happening to you, though. If this got worse because I didn't take you to the hospital, I'd never forgive myself."

"No, I think I'm gonna be okay. The pain is calming down now." I continue to drag on my lie. _I desperately need help; I just don't want my parents finding out about any of this._

"Oh, good. Please let me know if you want to go, though. I'll drive you there."

"Oh, o-okay," I cry. "I love you."

"I love you too." He lifts my upper half a little so that he can kiss me. "Poor Frankie. I don't know what I'd do without you."

I feel my eyelids growing heavy as I gaze at Gerard, his hand comfortingly placed against my cheek. I blink slowly, admiring his face as he tries to calm me down through the pain, still ongoing. "I'm so tired," I say, my speech slightly slurred.

"You wanna sleep? I'll leave you to rest, if you want."

"No." I give him a faint smile. "I want to fall asleep here." I weakly lift my hand up to stroke his face with the back of my hand, before the pain drags it down again.

"Oh- okay," he giggles, blushing. I rest my head against his chest as he hums softly, easing me to sleep

_You need to wake up._

I open my eyes again, frightened. "G-Gee?"

"What's up? Are you alright?" He looks concerned again.

_The voice is back._

"Oh, it's nothing."

_"Can you even hear me? Is anyone even... in there?"_

I desperately try to brush it off, letting my thoughts scream over the top of everything.

There's a sudden pause. The voice leaves for a moment, letting the beeping of a monitor take over the silence.

" _I just want to see you okay again. We were supposed to be engaged. I could have actually started as an artist and you could have started that band. Then I had to go and fucking ruin everything and get us into a car crash._ " It returns, this time growing louder.

My eyes snap open. I wrap my arms around Gerard's torso and let the tears flow over my eyes once again, feeling the fear build up within me.  
_I have nothing to wake up from._

"Gerard, help me," I whimper.

"Is the pain back?"

"No- it's that voice again. You- you know... _that one?_ " I cower. "It's scaring me."

"What's it saying this time?"

"He's saying he got us into a car accident. I don't want that to happen. I don't want that to happen at all."

"Shhh, it won't baby, I swear."

"But what if it does?" I cling on tighter to him.

"It's okay, Frank, we'll be okay. Just try and get to sleep, now."

"Okay, Gee."

I can feel myself getting tired again. I curl myself up against him and fall limp, letting myself finally fall asleep in Gerard's loving embrace, my head resting softly against his chest. He's still swaying back and forth, easing me into the realm of sleep.

"Never leave me, Gerard..." I mutter croakily.

"I won't, Frankie. I've got you."

"I don't want it to hurt anymore." My voice fades to a mere whisper. "I don't wanna ever feel like this again."

"I promise I'll never let anything or anyone harm you, my angel." He strokes my hair, before I finally drift off. "You're safe with me, forever and always."


	32. Chapter 32

Gerard's POV

-

I nervously tap my foot against the sterile linoleum floor. My body jitters from a lack of sleep and a heavy dose of caffeine.

I've finished two shifts so far today. I have one at the record store later. Recently, everything's just been _work, visit Frank, repeat._ There's nothing else left for me anymore.

It's weird to say that Frank's been lying here like this for six months now, still asleep, unbreathing; mechanically ventilated in the hopes that he might jolt back to life sometime soon, with enough air in his lungs to keep him going.

Motionless. Weak. Still.

I can still recall the feeling of dread I felt the night I held him in my arms as he desperately choked for air. The moment he started falling in and out of consciousness in the ambulance. His presence suddenly slipping away against my body. I still shudder in fear. He was so frail- so vulnerable. Safe to say that nothing's changed in these past few months.

I shuffle my chair a little closer to him. He's so pale.  
Even the steady beeps of the monitor don't assure me that he's alive anymore. All that's changed since he was first put in here is that the bruises around his eyes have faded, replaced with dark circles. Plus the bandages around his arms have been removed to reveal scarring and scabbing from stitches and needle-pricks.

I gently press my lips to his forehead, sliding my fingers between his own to make our hands interlock. "Hey, Frankie." I say, my voice low and raspy. "Guess how long it's been since, uh, all of this? Six months."

I let out a sarcastic little cheer and roll my eyes, realizing that six months probably doesn't matter. He's still going to carry on sleeping. His body doesn't care how long it's been. Six whole months, spent watching him dying in the hospital, withering away by the day.

"How wrong I was to think that maybe after a week or two of all of this, you might have woken up." I sound so lifeless. The joy from my voice has been whittled down to a cry for help. "Come to think of it, I can't remember a time _before_ you slipped into a fucking coma.

"You need to wake up."

I can't even feel anymore. "I've worked so hard. Every single day, I come to visit you. I work two to three shifts a day, and for what? They- they've shut off the electricity in our house now." I raise my voice, tears welling over my eyes like a waterfall of sorrow. I let go of his hand, "Fuck, can you even hear me? Is there anyone even... in there?

"Or are you just a fucking shell like me?" I stand up in anger, my whole body shaking. Rage slowly begins to ball inside my stomach.

Everything around me is falling apart. I don't want to live this fucking life anymore.

I don't give a shit about anyone walking in the room. I don't care about the security cameras. I just want to scream at him. I want him to _wake up._

"I just wish you'd take my hand and open your fucking eyes!" I sob, raising my voice. "I just want to see you okay again. We were supposed to be engaged. I could have actually started as an artist and you could have started that band. Then I had to go and fucking ruin everything and get us into a car crash.

"The day the crash happened is the day I think we _both died_ , Frank. I can never forgive myself for what I did, no matter what," my voice slowly becomes a shout. "You know what? I'm not even sure if I love you anymore!"

I gasp. The words that have just slipped out of me roll back towards me and swiftly slap me across the face. I place my hands over my mouth in shock. I shouldn't have said that. I do love him. I do.

The monotony of the heart monitor feels like a punch to the stomach with each beep. "I can't emphasize enough that my body is slowly becoming this badly-designed, poorly put-together vessel. It's just here to harbour my slowly diminishing vital organs. I hope my heart goes first. I really fucking do. It feels like it will now, anyway.

"Fuck you! I don't want you to wake up and be a complete fucking vegetable for the rest of your life. I don't want to dedicate myself to caring for you. I know it sounds selfish, but I think I'd rather just be dead. This is never what either of us would have wanted. It's tearing me apart, Frankie! _You're tearing me apart!_ I don't know what to do- I don't want you to die." My throat feels raw with angst. "I don't want to live in this constant fear of you dying, for fuck's sake."

I wonder if he can hear me. Maybe he's waiting on the other side- like there's a wall tearing us apart. I can imagine him sliding down it in despair, crying to be let out of this awful nightmare. It feels like I'm doing the same.

The machines make my head pound. Their drones remind me of the day of the accident- the moment I asked Ray- _'do you really think he'll pull through?'_  
Deep down, something tells me that he should have just said 'no' and got it all over with. _Maybe I'd be happier if his suffering had ended a long time ago._

It feels like I'm deteriorating along with Frank every day. I fucking hate it. I just want to kiss him again; to hold both of his hands and tell him I love him, and for him to finally respond to me. I wish I could just wrap my arms around him and let our bodies interlock the way they used to. I want to feel his head resting under mine again, and watch him stand on his tiptoes to softly kiss my lips.

"It pains me every day... to see you like this. Knowing you won't be the same person when you wake up," I weep. "You know how hard it is to tell people 'my baby's in a coma, and they don't even think he'll wake up'? It hurts, Frankie. It hurts me so much."

I miss his voice. His laugh. His deep, hazel eyes. I miss the feeling of his little button nose lightly pressing up against my face when he'd kiss me, or the feeling of his cool lip ring brushing against my face.

I'm never going to see any of that again without feeling completely numb. He's never going to be the same again, and I can't get that thought out of my head.  
He's dying  
He's dying, and he's not even going to make it out in one piece.

"Wake up, I'm begging you!" My chest aches. "It hurts me so fucking much to see you like this, baby. I miss you! I want you to be okay. I want you to wake up... and for me to hold you, and talk to you, and kiss you, and- and tell you that it's going to be okay." My body shakes as I cry.

Am I wasting my time, watching him lie there, comatose, and absolutely powerless to anything that comes against him?

"Does anything matter if you're already dead?"

There's a voice in my head, telling me to do something unthinkable.

No. I can't do that.

_I don't want to hurt him again._

"Baby... you- you have a choice to wake up. It's okay. It's alright. Oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." I hang my head, my tears splashing into my lap. "I just want you to know that none of this is your fault. You've never done anything wrong."

_Pull the plug._ The voice tells me. My thoughts scream at the mere thought of it.

"Frankie...

"Frankie, take my fucking hand. Please. Squeeze it back for me."

I ease myself back down into the chair and slip my fingers between his again.

"I- I'll give you ten seconds... and- and if not- I'll-"

Fuck.

I take a shaky breath in and close my eyes, choking over bouts of tears.

"T-ten..."

Nothing.

"Nine..."

_"I love you so, so much, Gee! I don't ever wanna let you go."_

"E-eight..."

_"I won't let you go either, Frankie. I fucking promise with all my heart, okay?"_

"Seven..."

_"We should start a family at some point. Get a dog, adopt a kid, y'know?"_

"Six...."

_"That sounds wonderful, baby." I wrap him in my arms. Frank's always been good with kids. I can just imagine how happy he'd be if we adopted one and started a family of our own. It'll be perfect._

"F-five."

_"You're so amazing. I'm so fucking lucky to have you, Gerard. I can't believe I wake up every morning to see you, lying next to me. Honestly, when I'm with you, I feel like I'm the happiest man alive."_

"F-four."

_"And I feel the same about you, my love. Not a day goes by where I don't think about how much I adore you."_

I just want him to squeeze my fucking hand back.

"Three."

_"Please never leave me, okay, baby?"_

"Two."

_"I promise." A strange mix of euphoria and sadness hits me, and I begin to cry. I don't know how it happened._

"One..."

_"Baby? What's the matter? Don't cry, Gee, you're okay-"_

There's nothing. No squeeze back. No acknowledgement of me. No signs of life. Nothing. A wave of guilt crashes over me, sweeping me away.

_I'm clinging onto the body of a man who should have died months ago._

I stand up in realization, tears falling from my eyes by the second. I can't believe I'm doing this.

Quickly, I dig my hand into my coat pocket and pull out the engagement ring, which has been sitting there for six months, waiting to be placed onto its dying recipient's hand.

Taking it out of its box, I hold it carefully with two fingers and slip it onto his ring finger. "I- I hope it's a yes." I shakily kiss him on the forehead. "I'm going to love you forever, _Frank Anthony Iero-Way..."_

I crouch down and reach from behind the bed, fumbling for a random plug and pulling it as quickly as I can, in the hopes that it'll do something. "Nothing's gonna hurt you anymore, baby..." I wail. "And I want you to know that I never wanted you to go this way. I promise you with my whole heart that you don't deserve any of this.

“Goodnight, Frankie...”

For a moment, the machines go crazy. I rip almost every plug from its socket to shut them off.

The sound of the death cry coming from the heart monitor ceases. The ventilator stops breathing for him. The fluids, constantly being pumped throughout his body, are cut off.

Frank is dead.

I killed my baby.

I have nothing now.

There's no feeling of him slipping away like there was on the day of the accident. It's like, really, he'd already gone. He'd probably left a long time ago.

There's no time to grieve. No time to sob on the floor. All I can do is run, while the tears that roll down my cheeks catch up to my pace.

As I run down the halls, I recieve stares from other visitors and glowers from the doctors and nurses dashing toward's Frank's room. I can see the knowing look of fear on Ray's face when I see him.

Everything flashes before my eyes.

How I told Frank that I was never going to let him go. I promised him that.

How I kissed him that first time.

Our first ever encounter.

I've killed him. I've killed the love of my life because I'm a selfish fucking murderer. There's nothing for me now. I'll never forgive myself.

I should have left the house a moment earlier.

This is my fault.

I should have clutched his dying body with whiter knuckles.

This is my fault.

I should have never even thought of pulling the plug.

This is my fault.

I can almost hear an echo of Frank's voice inside my head, sobbing his little heart out.

_"I could have woken up for you, baby."_


	33. epilogue

Frank Iero was found dead on June 25th, 2005, six months after falling comatose due to a severe car accident that left him brain-damaged. His life support was pulled by his partner, Gerard Way, in an act of grief.

Just twenty-four hours after Frank's departure came the death of Gerard. His lifeless body was found on the kitchen floor by his brother; his heart, placed under so much pressure from grieving, that it eventually gave in.

_Broken-heart syndrome._

In their casket, the tragic lovers lie upon a bed of roses. Side by side, hand-in-hand, both cold and pale, now completely lifeless, but finally together, once and for all; just how it was meant to be.

_One, in everlasting peace._


End file.
